Jungle Work
by SimonJester479
Summary: Booth has been kidnapped by some unknown group and is being forced to relive painful memories and experiences that he had hoped to keep buried in his past. M for blood, language, descriptions of torture, and possible death **Complete**
1. Lear Jet SWAT Team

**Jungle Work**

**AN- I own nothing as Bones isn't my origional work. This is my first serious work for a long time so please be honest and point out any and all flaws that it may have and I promise to do my utmost to reply to all serious reviews.**

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"Do you want to live forever?"  
You don't know why that question went through your mind just now but you know the answer right? Who wouldn't want to live forever? A lifetime of experiences with no permanent repercussions, isn't that an ideal way to live? You know what your partner would say: "Such hedonistic ideals where what destroyed countless civilizations. When a society starts to idealize decadence it surely falls." You don't know why but hearing her voice in your head makes you feel better, or at least you don't want to acknowledge that you know why it does. You first heard that question from your platoon sergeant in Panama before you flew in. Funny the last time you heard that it was a way to motivate you, now the question was all too real.

It's dark; you can barely perceive the walls around you. It's wet; the moisture has soaked your shirt. As you try to sit up pain sears through your head; pain is good it means that you're still alive. Only the bad thing is that you realize that it isn't a nightmare and you really are in a dark dank room with what appears to be blood on the floor. You realize that your hands are bound, so are your ankles; zip-tied. That's not good, that means whoever did this to you is a professional, they know what they're doing. As your eyes adjust to the dark you can see the outline of a door in front of you only you don't see a doorknob or a latch. That worries you the most. That means that you're dealing with someone who's done this before, you're in a purpose built holding cell. You notice that there is a drain by your head; the blood crusted to it looks old and your blood mixes with it as you spit up a gob that was pooling in your mouth. The color reminds you a bit of that tub of cleaner that those women put their husband in; a dark red mixed with brownish stuff, Ange would know what shade it was.

A groan escapes your mouth as you finally manage to sit up and asses the room. It's cramped and small, stone walls and floors with a wooden door. Hah it's like you got shoved into a dungeon like one of the guys in the fairy tales you read to Parker before bed. Only they forget to mention the smell. Your hackles rise as your nostrils are assailed by the mixed stench of vomit, shit, piss, and blood. Bad memories come rushing back but you suppress them before you get any more agitated. Still you start to panic as you try to recall your training from Ft. Rucker. You calm yourself down and try to remember how you ended up here. The last thing you remember is walking out of the Jeffersonian and walking to the parking lot to go to… wow. You have no idea of where you were supposed to go but apparently you never showed up. You suddenly panic. Bones! Was she with you? You can't remember. Wait… Hodgins wanted to show her something as you two were walking out. You remember arguing with her but she went off to see whatever the Bug and Slime guy found and you walked out to the car to warm it up and wait for her. You say a silent prayer thanking God that whoever it was that got him didn't get her as well.

That said you tack on a little request for help getting out of here, wherever it is.

Suddenly you hear voices on the other side of the door and you try to listen to what they say. Before you can discern any words the door bursts open and a really bright light is shining in your eyes. Your eyes water as you squint, the irony of the label doesn't escape you; and suddenly the light is blocked by a rather large boot. Ow! You can definitely feel your nose break. The only noise that is being made is the smacking and thuds of, hmmmm, two rather large men beating you with what feels like anvils and baseball bats but you probably guess with just their hands and feet. Blood leaks out of your mouth as you grind your teeth together to keep from crying out. Show no weakness; don't give them anything to latch on to, don't give them a method to break you.

They wrench you up and lift you to your feet by your arms. Darkness covers your eyes but you don't think you were knocked out; one of them must have put a bag over your head. This causes you to panic the most as the memories begin to assail you. As they drag you along you try to bring yourself back under control as visions flash before your eyes. You almost feel as if you're back in Afghanistan and you're being dragged off for another meeting with your tormentors, with your torturers. You bring yourself back to the present with the cold realization that you're not in Afghanistan because your feet aren't broken. That's what they did to you first when they captured you and your team, they broke your feet so you couldn't run away; well except for Vandercook, he was already wounded so they… you don't want to think about what they did to him.

Next thing you know you're careening through the air. You bet that Zach could have predicted exactly where you would hit and how hard if he could see you what with him being such a genius. A crazy murder but a genius nonetheless. You miss him and his rather … odd way of looking at the world; you don't know why he suddenly popped into your head at that second but maybe it was because--- you hit something hard and fall to the floor. You wheeze out loud and spit up a mouthful of blood; gross that's going to leave a stain on your shirt. Oh yeah he liked to fly model airplanes and you were making a fair imitation of one just then. Well so did Kennedy and he was a hit man. Was there some sort of link between flying airplanes and murder? The ironic thing is that Zach would be the first person to figure that out.

"Special Agent Seely Booth of the FBI Major Crimes Unit out of DC."

Who the hell is that? It doesn't sound like some bruiser who just roughed you up, too dammed refined and pretentious.

"A shame that we had to meet under these circumstances Agent Booth. Your reputation precedes you and under different conditions we might have rather enjoyed working together. But for now let us be civilized, after all there is no rule which says that one cannot be polite with even one as perfectly difficult as you and it is rather rude that your face is hidden."

You're hauled up to your feet and someone pulls the bag over your head. You blink at the harsh light and realize that you're looking at a mirror of yourself. Well yourself and two rather large men in black ski masks.

"Ahh much better. I can see that my colleagues have welcomed you properly to this facility. Oh don't scowl like that."

At those words the one to your left, or is it to your right; mirrors are so confusing. Either way his fist slams into your jaw and you collapse towards the ground. Or you would as your descent is met by the other goon's ascending knee. You try not to gasp as you feel a rib crack. Defiantly you glare back into the mirror hoping to hide just how much pain you feel.

"Heh, well there is just no negotiating with some people. But I'm a generous man and I feel that I can trust you not to do anything foolish."

You feel the zip-tie on your wrists being cut. Without warning you whirl about and grapple with the guard who cut your bonds. Hah take that you little fuck! You feel some pain as your forehead smashes into his nose but you know that he's hurting a lot more. He stumbles back still holding the knife and --- hello floor meet face. You can't help but cry out as your nose smashes into the stone floor. Should have waited for them to cut your feet loose as well, then you could have balanced yourself. You grin up at the mirror as they proceed to kick you. Except for right then, that was a rib breaking and oh what would you know your shoulder is dislocated.

You finally start making noise as they drag you over to a chair and a table. In retrospect telling him that he hit like a girl was probably not a good idea; the stars you see remind you of those old cartoons that you'd see. They strap you down to the chair and- Oh God! That really hurt. Is your arm broken? Nah it just feels like it's on fire but now how the hell are you supposed to hit back? Suddenly you feel a stabbing pain from your left hand, quite literally as there is now a knife sticking out of your hand pinning it to the table. You only hope this isn't the prequel of getting garroted like that guy in _The Godfather_.

"But then again I have been wrong before."

"Who the hell are you?!" you spit out with some more blood. Hah you got a bit on that guys face. Take that!

"Now now what makes you think that you're the one who is going to ask questions here? Now we're going to start this slowly and carefully but no worries we're not like those savages who have tortured you before; it will be considerably different for you this time around but have no illusions. My associates have made it explicitly clear that you are here to be tortured, to break you, to utterly destroy your psyche."

Your mind swims with the possibilities of that statement, none of them really reassure you. But it does remind you of SERE school; of course there they didn't stab you.

"Now we know that you have some familiarity with rationality and logic your colleague Dr. Brennan is famous for it. And just so you know there is a totally rational and logical reason why you are here and that there is a logical method to what will be done to you." The (man? voice?) states from the mirror.

Smug bastard is probably grinning and holding a damn martini. This feels like a particularly bad dream from a James Bond movie and you hope you wake up soon because this dream really sucks.

"So why am I here? What is this logical reason why I'm tied to a chair somewhere with a knife sticking out of my hand?" Was that too demanding? He did tell you that you weren't asking the questions here but it can't hurt to ask right? On second thought the whole getting your head slammed into the table hurts so maybe it does hurt to ask some times.

You barely hear him as your vision is quite blurry right now, something about getting knocked in the head repeatedly. "Agent Booth you're here for the simple reason that you are more useful to us here than in an active role in the FBI at the moment. Of course I won't go into the details as you quite simply don't need to know them; after all you're going to need something to think about because you're going to be here for quite some time."

Well at least that means that they don't want you dead just yet, just mostly dead. Parker likes to watch Disney movies and sometimes leaves the TV on when he falls asleep. The last time he was over he fell asleep watching the Princess Bride; you always thought it was a kinda girly movie but you just couldn't stop watching that night for some reason. Maybe it was your subconscious forewarning you about getting kidnapped and tortured so you could stock up on movie quotes! Sweets would probably say something along those lines but then again he's so annoying sometimes that you'd probably just ignore him. Oh yeah where were you again? Oh that's right sitting in some God-forsaken room talking to yourself in the mirror, and getting beaten by two rather pissed of guys. At least they took the knife out of your hand. That being said will someone please pick you up off the floor because you don't trust your legs to hold up your weight.

It doesn't seem like there is going to be any more talking from the mirror on the wall. "_Mirror mirror on the wall, how many beatings have I had in all?"_ Taking up a stoic glare seems to be the best way to deal with this. It's just pain. Honestly it's better than when you had to face off against that Goliath in Vegas. That night was rather memorable; your body ached for days after that even with Bones taking care of you. It brings a small grin to your face thinking about how she helped you win that fight and took care of you with an almost annoying degree of… attention. Not that you minded because you really did. Uh-oh did that grin actually set upon your face just then? Did they see it?

"Hey Karl, did you see him just there? He's enjoying this! If he likes it so much then we ought to oblige him." Damn. This is going to- *Wham* What happened to the lights?

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At least they left the restraints off of you when they put you back in your cell. It allows you to scratch your leg. That was annoying you for a while. It reminded you a bit of that James Bond movie when he was tortured; that's not saying that you'd have wanted to be tortured the same way as he did but… at least he did get freed afterward. Looking around this place you don't see the cavalry riding over the next hill, or busting in through the door. That kind of depresses you; the squints and you had all arranged to go to Sid's for dinner tonight. At least you think that its tonight; time sort of flies when you're passed out.

Taking stock of your injuries sort of depresses you; it feels like your entire body is one mass of bruises and from what you can see of your body it sort of fits. Wait you can see your entire body. Holy shit you have no clothes! No wonder its cold. Ha if only Bones could see you now; she'd be able to tell you exactly which of your bones was bruised, cracked, or whatever. Wait why did you think of Bones just then? Could it be because you… um… how did she put it… "lack of Puritan modesty?" Nah it can't be that, it's the bone thing because your ribs feel pretty bad right now. You don't want to think that it might be that… other thing.

Why are you here? The mirror, you don't want to say guy I mean you can't even see his/her face, that there was some sort of logical reason why you were here. The best thing you can think of is that it has something to do with a case. I mean what else would it be? This whole set up and the professional feeling of the beat down, if that's the word for it, smells like something organized. Could it be the mob? Could it have something to do with that big RICO case that you… gave up all that credit to. Even if you didn't get the credit for the case, your face uncontrollably darkens as you remember why you gave it up, the mob would know who worked on the case and who helped reveal some of their most profitable operations to the world. What is it with you being captured by organized crime? Technically the thing in Vegas was you being undercover to find a double murderer but it certainly felt like you were going to be locked up by the mob when they accused you of cheating. And the whole fiasco with Kennedy and his rather disgruntled boss, whoa. That was rather unpleasant. At least "Big Dawg" Gallagher let you keep your clothes. Of course he also wanted to kill you fairly quickly but you've been known to be stubborn so it took a little while which gave Bones time to find you. She'll find you. She and her squints are the best. She has to. Geez you don't want to feel needy but you do feel like you need her right at this moment. And it has nothing to do because you're naked. Why do you keep telling yourself that?

Hey it looks like they bandaged up your hand! All wrapped up in clean gauze too! At least they're considerate enough, at least when they're not stabbing you and beating you in the first place. That means… that they want you to stay around long enough to "talk" to again. You're sort of flattered that they want you around but given the chance you'd decline their invitation.

It's better to think of a way to get out of here, sitting here brooding will only make things worse. Besides what is it that Bones always calls you? An "alpha-male?" Well wouldn't an alpha-male try to dominate the situation? Standing up hurts; hell breathing hurts right now. You stumble over to the door to study it. Your training takes over as you look over the cracks between the door and the wall; no wires, no little "lumps" in between the spaces. At least they didn't rig the door to blow if it got opened from the inside. It doesn't even look like it was set up to trip an alarm; still before you get too excited you need to figure out how to get the door open in the first place, perhaps if you wedged something in the cracks to pry the door open? But what with?

The cell still looks empty, dark, and wet. Nothing to work with here at the moment, also nothing to do. You suppress a dark chuckle though; these guys are obviously well versed in how to take and hold prisoners, you wouldn't be surprised if some of the guys who helped design this whole set-up were ex-military from various parts of the world where this was the norm for even regular prisons. You don't want to think that maybe some of these guys went through the mill here in the states, sure some of the guys who went through never were quite right in the first place; more were changed afterwards. As long as they didn't do what they did at SERE school they wouldn't break him, at least not for a while.

What's that sound? Is it- oh God oh God oh God oh God not this. Not those noises. Oh God in heaven...

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Special Agent Seely Booth of the FBI, veteran of the 75th Ranger Regiment US Army with years of some of the most difficult training and assignments that his country has given him. He's acknowledged bulwark against evil and despair that his friends and colleagues all look to in times of fear and desperation. He knows what it is to kill; his psyche has held up under blood, torture, and stress that most cannot possibly understand. He's the quintessential Alpha Male, a Paladin, the defender of the weak and those oppressed. He's curled up in the fetal position with his hands over his ears, sobbing and begging God to make the noises stop as time stretches on into infinity. Ah the while unbeknownst to him a camera watches and records these moments for those who orchestrated this.


	2. On a Midnight Run

**AN:Thank you all for the reviews, I'm sorry I've yet to respond to them as I've been in the middle of finals and a change of jobs within the Battalion. Once again I don't own any of these characters as Bones is owned by someone else and the title of "Jungle Work" and the chapter titles comes from the amazing Warren Zevon song. Enjoy as the random streams of Booth's conciousness trend towards some dark memories at the end.**

"Get up you lug!"  
No mommy I don't want to get up today… Ow what the hell! Mom didn't smack you around but Dad did; is he already drunk this early- wait this is different. You don't smell the whiskey. Ow that was a boot! Who the hell is kicking you and why does your body feel like it's been run over with a car?

"Alright you little bitch you're gonna get it now!" Damn that person sounds really annoyed whoever it is, can't they just give you five more minutes?

Woah that hurts! It's funny in the movies they never really can act out what being hit with a taser really feels like. It's a bit of a mix of having every nerve in your body being wrenched out, stomped on, cut into a thousand pieces and then set on fire and being shocked by your little brother sneaking up and zapping you when he's wearing wool pajamas on a winter morning. You don't think that you're saying anything because you really don't trust your mouth to be able to control itself. For that matter why isn't the guy letting up on it? This has been going on for a bit now hasn't it? I mean you're flopping about like a fish out of water. Suddenly it all stops but you can't quite get a hold of your body yet. At least you're awake now. Maybe you can open up a shop after you retire from the FBI offering to taser people to wake them up. You'd put all those coffee shops out of business!

"Alright Larry give it up he's had enough for now. Grab him and let's get going or else we're all going to be late for roll call" Roll call? Where are you in school? If you are can you get a letter to be excused from class today?

"Come on Lou he's all nasty right now, can't we at least put on some gloves before moving him? I mean look at him he's gone and shit all over himself just now!" Well excuse me but for some reason you don't feel like that was really your fault. Hopefully you managed to piss on his leg a bit too.

"Forget it Larry, remember when Sid was late bringing that one guy out last week? They went and cleaned him off with the rest of the scum." Ok now you're just confused.

"Eh, alright let's get this sack of shit out with the rest of the bastards." Normally you'd take offense to that implication but it pretty much sums up how you feel at the moment. You don't think that you could protect yourself from a newborn kitten at the moment let alone try to escape from two rather large men with a proclivity towards beating helpless prisoners.

It's rather undignified but you just hang limply and drool as they drag your sorry carcass down some sort of stone tunnel. Hah you have them fooled! You're really scouting out the path of the place to plan your cunning escape! Unfortunately your eyes don't seem to want to focus and thinking coherently is rather hard at the moment so yo- *Wham!* Ow Fuck! You weren't expecting that! Doors have handles for a reason you ignorant klutzes! Anyway your cunning plan so far involves A. escaping and B. snogging B- whoops where did that thought come from! So it's quite clear that thinking straight at the moment will be a very difficult obstacle to overcome. Focus Booth focus! There has to be a way out of he- Goddamnit will they please stop using you to open doors?! Your head already feels like there's a brass band playing inside and use as an impromptu battering ram is not making it any more enjoyable!

"Hey Lou, Larry I see you got the FNG here. Toss him into line there, we're gonna clean them up real soon." FNG? You certainly haven't heard that term in a long time. Fuck that means this whole escape plan of yours probably is going to be much harder then you originally thought.

You blink as you realize that you're no longer indoors. A rather cold wind nips at all your exposed skin and since you're as naked as the day you were born that means the nipping is quite painful! You have no idea what time it is as the sky is still dark. You realize that you can only really see out of your right eye, for some reason the other one doesn't want to open. Dirt ground, scattered wood chips, and- wouldn't you know? Concertina wire fencing! A silent whistle escapes your lips as you realize that it's been triple-stranded and threaded with barbed wire and what looks like tripwires interspaced between the rolls. You haven't seen that since… well since a while ago.

You gaze out and see a horrific sight. About half a dozen other men naked, filthy, hurt, and bleeding like you all shivering in a line. Their faces are downcast and hair is wild; their eyes are haunted… dead… it reminds you of pictures from your history classes back in high school. Suddenly you see them all in ripped uniforms a harsh sun bearing down overhead… Your handlers shove you into line with the others and you discreetly scan the little clearing taking in the scene. You see a dozen goons all wearing ski masks and heavy thick clothing, military style but you don't think military issue. Only three of them seem to be armed with guns, the rest all have knives at the hips or clubs in their hands, but the ones with the guns made up for the rest in causing you to freeze in barely concealed terror.

Old-school Thompson sub-machine guns with big nasty snail drums clipped to the bottom. You thought that those went out with the Korean War and black and white Gangster movies. .45 caliber bullets pumped out at 800 rounds a minute with a bare modicum of accuracy? That gives you the shudders. Those weapons are designed to kill and in some of the most gruesome ways possible. .45 bullet has an exit wound the size of a dinner plate and even a graze can knock a 200lb man on his ass. Those guys really look bored though; totally convinced of their authority here; maybe you can use that to your advantage?

But what about the third guy, the one with a holstered pistol and not a machine gun? He looks like the guy in charge here. Kind of small though but with a hard square jaw and an "I eat nails and piss napalm for breakfast" scowl that any Drill Sergeant that you've known would envy. You swear but he looks like an extra from an old WWII movie, grey great coat and… holy shit is that a Luger? You'd laugh at the incredulity of the whole situation except you're worried that he'd shoot you with it. The worst thing is his eyes. Ice blue and totally devoid of human empathy set into a stoic skull formed of granite. Bones would laugh at the idea of a skull being made from stone. Unless it was from some sort of ancient burial site like that thing over in London; she called it "ossified bone" or something.

The stone dude starts to walk down the line of beaten captives glaring at them as he passes. You notice that your fellow captives all flinch and seem to shrink till they're shorter than the, for lack of a better word "warden." As you ponder the significance of this he passes in front of you, oh shit he snaps his head and stares you down. Wow no wonder his eyes are so ice blue! His left eye is made of glass and the other one is just plain scary looking. What the hell is he saying? It sounds like German but not really. Whatever it is you guess it means pain for you in the near future as two goons are heading towards you holding small bats. Thinking about the two muzzles which are suddenly staring you down you remember the wisdom of "Discretion is the better part of Valor."

"Youse Zeke! Filthy little shite! Tovarisch over there don't like you da?!" Ok you let out a verbal groan there because shin bones are very sensitive to wooden bats smacking them. And what's with the Russian accent? Is this some sort of stereotypical bad guys convention here with them all comparing methods of hurting people? The stone face guy is yelling something else now and some of the lackeys are running over to some sort of shed. Hey the sun is coming out that's good! Hopefully it will warm you up a bit…

Ok Seeley bad news, the little traces of the dawn also allow you to see a bit more which means that you can see them hauling over a fire hose…

"Fucking Zekes all shite covered da! Bath time!"

Oh merciful mother of G-

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You take a brief moment to take a break from… well sitting around brooding in your filthy cramped little stone cell. Looking back on the last hour or so you can sort of tell that you've done something to piss of God and he's having some sort of payback mood at the moment; of course what sort of sin did you have to commit to deserve getting sprayed down with a high powered hose of ice water? Not that it got you that clean as the force knocked you down on the ground; bastards had fun moving you around the ground like a fucking hockey puck. Considerate of them to at least allow you a modicum of hygiene; last time- don't think those thoughts Seeley, don't remember that. They fed you, sort of. Being force fed oatmeal and what you desperately hoped was mud and getting some water isn't exactly your favorite Diner but it beats what you saw one of the other captives doing. He discretely found and ate some sort of bug which was crawling around in the dirt; you dimly register that Hodgins would know what it was.

As the sun went up more the layout of the open area became much easier to scout out. Judging by the rocks and trees it looks like they've built this place somewhere in the mountains. Other than the wire and some rickety shacks and what looked like an old barn there were no structures in sight. You did notice the cut into the hill side where the entrance of your wonderful tunnel of fun and excitement starts. You noticed a more level area a little ways away from where you were but couldn't get a close enough look, its most likely that the entrance and a vehicle path is over that way.

From what you could tell from the guards they are all definitely some sort of mercenaries. They tended to gather in small groups with each group speaking a different language; Russian, German, something like German but not quite, a smattering of some east European languages, and a lot of bad English. They didn't all seem to be from the same… unit, for a lack of a better word. The only unifying figure was that cold stone faced bastard. You got a better look at him and noticed his face was a mess of burns and scars. Dude looks like he's been through hell and wants to make sure that everyone else gets to enjoy his experience.

You'd sigh and lean your head back against the wall but given the swelling and bruising its more likely to agitate you than be relaxing. This whole thing is confusing the hell out of you. I mean you know that there are plenty of criminals that want you dead but locked up and tortured? Well some might want to torture you but they'd probably kill you soon thereafter. Mercenaries, fortified and isolated location this whole thing is totally crazy. You first thought it might be the mob but they wouldn't have the resources to do this; Capone in his heyday could establish fortresses in the city but wouldn't hire mercenaries and establish underground caves of torture chambers.

This whole thing, the whole set up, hell even the language and methods that these guys are using screams "military." Concertina wire is tricky and nasty stuff to work with; civilians would never even try to work with that stuff because it's so dangerous. Double pronged and razor sharp blades evenly spaced out protruding from the wire and then wrapped around with two other strands of wire makes an almost impregnable barrier for a person to get through without a vehicle or heavy duty wire cutters. The barbed wire and cans full of rocks which rattled in the wind were just little flourishes which only made it more impressive; somebody with experience handling that and setting it up could have made that fence. Hell even calling you an "FNG" was a slip which told you that these guys have probably been through some sort of service. You remember being called that when you first got to Battalion, and you remember welcoming replacements with that same moniker; Fucking New Guy, means that those other poor bastards who got washed down with you have been here for a while. No wonder they look dead their spirits are broken.

You saw that same sort of look when you were in Guatemala. You told Bones that you went there to shoot a man through the heart but that was only half the story. That bastard, Héctor Chaves, was a piece of work. During the civil war there he made a habit taking hostages and torturing them to get ransoms out of their families; he got greedy and took some foreign nationals hostage which earned intervention. You can still remember the faces of the people that the police extracted after you eliminated Chaves; they had witnessed horror and it had all but destroyed their humanity. Two of them committed suicide right after getting freed and another was actually arrested for murdering and torturing another victim five years down the line. There is only so much a person can do when they are forced to witness the deepest depravities in the human psyche. Some are broken forever and lose their will to live, even going so far as to take their own life. Others become that evil; their souls aren't broken by despair but twisted by evil and reenact their pain upon others. You shudder to think that either of those things might happen to you if you're stuck here long enough.

You never had an urge to die after you were rescued before. You can't really remember what you felt but never an urge to give up or commit suicide. Of course that was when you were being rescued, the pain was going to stop and you knew it. While those… bastards… were breaking the bones in your feet, burning you with irons or breaking all the teeth of your buddies while forcing you to watch; you hate to admit but you just wanted the pain to end. When they would come into your cage in the middle of the night and whisper in broken English that they were going to execute you in the morning there was a small part of you that welcomed that sense of release…

You really regret that Bones had to see your x-rays. She shouldn't have to know what happened to you "Over There" or at least you wish that you could have at least have had the option of telling her rather than her figuring it out. It really is kind of amazing how she could figure out so much just by glancing at your file; of course everything she does is incredibly amazing even when it does tend to annoy and frustrate you at times. You don't want to admit that she's really grown on you since when you first met. The ghost of a smile fades as you think about how much those x-rays left out. Bones figured out that your feet had been broken by rubber hoses and sticks but did they tell her what they did after that? Did those x-rays tell her that they ground your broken bones together to put you in agony as they grinned and laughed at you? Did they tell her about what happened to your battle buddy that you were trying to protect? Of course not. No x-ray in the world could have told your brilliant partner what happened to him. You can still hear his whimpers and cries in the darkness at nights. Half the reason you drink coffee so much is to make up for the fact that you still can't sleep at night without hearing Vandercook's screams. He was the first one of your team to die only his death took too long, far too long. They dragged it out, they took turns whipping him, cutting him, taking rocks and crushing his fingers and bones. They told you that they'd impaled his body and flayed him as a warning. Your dark reverie is lightened by the small thought that it was Vandercook's body which allowed for the rescue to take place; marking the entrance of their damn lair was a terrific irony. Vandercook got the Silver Star, posthumously for that. He deserved far more than that.

You're thankful that she put down your records when you asked her, you don't know what you'd have done if she'd delved deeper in your file to find out the other injuries that you'd had inflicted on your body. At least you don't think that she's looked any deeper in your records. A few times when you've been more withdrawn or if you have a case which involves someone getting really hurt or tortured you've caught Temperance glancing at you with a look of almost sorrow; like she knew what had happened to you but is too unsure to ask you what happened. You suddenly get a strong feeling of remorse for not telling her and you don't know why.

There's no way to tell time in this cell, your stomach tells you it's time to eat but you suspect that they're not going to feed you all that often. No windows in the walls make it impossible to gauge the sun, the only source of light leaks through the cracks around the door. Small tiny slivers which tease you with promises of escape from the darkness; the only problem is a barrier between you and that goal, a barrier you know you can't cross but your hope keeps telling you to try to find a way through or around it. A vision of beauty flashes before your eyes but you squelch that thought. You put that line there, you both did. There's no way you can cross it.

It's probably best if you try to sleep now, there's no telling when something might happen and you need to try to recover your strength if you're going to find a way out of here. Also if you try to sleep now you can hopefully avoid them playing those noises again…

***************************************************************************************************************

Curled up in a ball covered in mud and filth fitfully sleeping, minute murmurs and whimpers escaping his lips at odd intervals. His face grimaces in pain yet he's still asleep. All of this that hidden camera captures, recording it.


	3. With the M16 and the Ingram Gun

**AN: Once again "Bones" is not my property. Hopefully I can keep churning out chapters quickly in the near future before work decides to rear its ugly head. Please enjoy and if you want to, review. I apologize for the shortness of this chapter but I can assure you that the next one will make up for it.**

Harsh light from a harsh sun reflects off the rocks. Weather and terrain are the most common complaints that soldiers have but at the moment those concerns about rocks and rain are secondary. Sharp cracks and bellowed wordless screams fill the air; some screams are commands, some are wordless expressions of violence, some are of pain. At the moment yours are of the first category with a desperate desire to not change to the third.

"3 O'clock we got Haji up the ridge line!" The ping of metal striking rock sounds like the end of the world. You can even perceive the wake of the bullets as they scream past your face; the boiling water vapor that follows them whooshes past your face.

"RPG at 10 O'clock!" Flash smoke Boom! They call those anti-tank weapons but they seem to work just fine on dog soldiers. Suddenly the weight of your IBA disappears and it feels as if you're naked.

"They got a .50 at our 6!" It sounds like someone is ripping cloth next to your ear magnified a bazillion times. The Ma Deuce is an oldy but a goody; except when you're at the wrong end of the barrel. Your stomach curdles as you see one of your buddies get split in two as a burst catches him in the open.

Chung is behind a rock calling in on the radio, in sickening slow motion you see the scene play before your eyes. A flash of smoke, "Victor one six this-" a dark shape with a contrail "-contact at-" it gets closer "taking cas-" closer "request immediate-" closer "Vicinity grid-" hit. It didn't go off but it still hit him. The rocket is sticking out of him; skewered him like a goddamn shish kabob. Chung's down you have to get to him; he might still be alive. Your men are dying you have to get to them. You-

"Rise and shine Agent Booth"

Who is that? Who the hell is saying that?! You have to save them you have to save your buddies!

"Hmmm how rude. I'm being quite perfectly polite and yet you feel as if I'm not worth your notice?!"

A sharp pain. What? Are you hit? No you don't get hit. You don't get shot. How do you know this? You've been here before, you know what happens. What how? Are you dreaming?

Eyes fly open just in time to catch a glimpse of what appears to be a size 14 men's regular shoe careening at a high rate of motion towards your-

"Ah I see I have your attention now Agent Booth."

You're too busy grasping yourself and coughing to make a response. Tears of agony stream down your face washing dirt into your mouth. That was a, literally, low blow and totally uncalled for. Suddenly you miss the tasering from the last time someone wanted to wake you up.

"Now that you have risen from your fitful throes of slumber would you please grace me with your company for some time, we have a lot to talk about." Smug smarmy bastard; has to have at least one doctorate because nobody normal would talk like that. Wait talk? Maybe this means that you can get an idea of who's doing this to you or why you're here.

"Who are you?" Wow did your voice really sound that high? Your voice hasn't been that high pitched since grade school. Compared to you Parker sounds like a gruff 60 year old.

"Now now this isn't the proper place to hold a verbal discussion so will you please follow me and we shall find somewhere else to discuss matters. Oh and while such a thing might be couched as a request it certainly is not. Also while there might not be any rather large ruffians around now to haul you around please don't try anything foolish because it will not bode well for either of us as you'll end up dead and I'd have to pay to have this jacket cleaned of your blood. Are we clear?"

You nod your head as you stagger to your feet. It's a pleasure to be standing up without being roughed up by some hired goons. The man looks like a squint, about five inches shorter than you with a slight build and bifocals over light blue eyes; rather thin lips and balding, light brown hair fading to grey. You guess that he's in his fifties; his rather drab and ill-fitting brown suit and rumpled shirt make him about as intimidating as a baby bird. On closer examination you notice a rather large bulge in his suit jacket which looks like a probable place to conceal a pistol. If you were not recovering from a nasty kick to the balls you'd entertain the idea of rushing him to take his pistol and trying to escape but at the moment your tender sensibilities are telling you that sudden movement is likely to hurt more than you'd like. Plus you're curious.

He's utterly silent as you follow him down the corridor, your bare feet making nary a sound as you stagger down the stone floor and his shoes making a clapping sound as he walks several paces ahead of you never even looking back to check if you're behind him. Then again where'd you go? It's a straight shot down the corridor and you have no idea about the layout of the place. Wait why did he stop? Oh there's a side corridor off to the left. Wordlessly he walks down that new path expecting you to follow. You think about making a run for it but you tell yourself that there's no guarantee that the exit is down that way. Numbly you follow.

"Now if you please Agent Booth, will you come in here and take a seat we'll get started." The path leads to a single door, now open, with a wooden table and two chairs facing each other in it. He walks inside and takes his seat waiting patiently for you to join him. You walk in and feel quite unnerved at this whole set up. Pain you can understand but this is something else. You notice that there's a cooler behind the door and some bags. You have no idea what might be in those containers but your stomach rumbles at the possibility that there might be food or water in them.

"You must be thirsty being stuck in that wretched abode for so long, and famished too. Here let me offer you refreshments before we discuss the matter at hand. There is nothing that says that this cannot be pleasant or polite." He puts some bottled water and an apple on the table and pushes them over to where you're sitting. Despite yourself you feel the pangs of hunger and thirst but you force those urges down; you've a lot of practice forcing your more primal urges down so that's not a difficult task to accomplish.

"Who are you?" You croak out through dry lips. That's a logical question and it's the first step in understanding what's going on and hopefully it will provide you enough distraction to keep from pouncing on the apple and water in front of you.

"Ah well now we're getting somewhere." This guy annoyingly reminds you of Sweets

"Well as you may imagine telling you my birth name can potentially lead to putting me in a compromising position if for some reason you manage to ascertain a method of escape from here but for politeness' sake you can call me Tim."

"Tim eh? Well given that you already know who I am I suppose that you're going to be the one who will be doing most of the talking here." Tim? This sort of reminds you of that Monty Python movie.

"Oh of course Agent Booth after all I have a job here in discussing things with you. First I have been instructed to tell you the reason why you're here." Wow that was easy, you didn't even have to ferret it out of him.

"As you may know you and your partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan, are quite accomplished at what you do and you can therefore understand how that accomplishment can perturb certain members of certain groups. Lately there have been rumblings of a certain nature which can be interpreted as extreme agitation with the success of you and your partner and there was a request made to neutralize your inquiries into certain lines of investigation. Therefore the organization I work for has undertaken the necessary means to neutralize you and Dr. Brennan." Tim states this as calmly as ordering a cup of coffee.

"What do you mean?" Your face uncontrollably turns to a look of dread but not for your sake but for Bones' sake as you stare at Tim across from you, he's smiling at this whole exchange. The possibilities reel in your head. Does that mean that Bones' is also stuck in some sort of prison being tortured too? Does that mean that she's dead? Oh God you need to get out of here to warn her, to protect her.

"Oh don't worry so we are not so uncouth as to simply kill you and your partner, at least not yet. There are certain things that we need Dr. Brennan to do before we could contemplate eliminating her outright as there are certain cases before her which need to be… interpreted in a certain light. I hope you know what I mean."

"So why am I here? Am I some sort of bargaining chip that you're going to use to force her to falsify evidence?" Your voice starts to rise as you ponder the meaning of the whole situation. You were kidnapped to act as leverage to influence Temperance to falsify evidence to protect a criminal organization? This whole thing sounds so ridiculous but…

"Ah, you Agent Booth are here because we believe that there is no better way to control the actions of someone then to use their loved ones against them. Please before you protest, and yes I know that you were going to deny that you are anything but partners; however, your confinement here has already borne fruit. I must admit that I was surprised at first when she lost her stoic composure when we showed her pictures of you being tortured but what really belies any of your feeble protestations was how she reacted to seeing you in your cell crying, weeping, curled up like a baby. Oh my, she just about lost it; couldn't look at the pictures for more than a few seconds. She had to be escorted out of the room by Ms. Montenegro because she was totally beside herself and could sadly be of no more help in this investigation." Tim smiles at you in a knowing manner. He's almost leering when he recounts how Bone's "lost it."

No that would never happen this has to be some sort of ploy to torment you. Bones' wouldn't "lose it" for you right? I mean she did kind of lose it when Keton nearly killed her but that was an understandable near-death situation. Angela kept hinting at how Bones' was more than just concerned for you when you were taken captive by Gallagher but you didn't believe her. You and Temperance might be fond of each other and would react in certain ways because you and she were close partners but to insinuate that… a small part of you rejoices at this news but the rest of you refuses to contemplate it. Wait…

"What the hell do you mean when you showed her?" Oh God they can get to her? Does she know that she's in danger?

"Oh yes, she and I spoke face to face. Oh don't worry so Agent Booth. I assured her that we were doing everything that we could to find you and that we'd apprehend whomever kidnapped you and is torturing you in such a horrific manner. After all we were discussing your case in the Hoover building---"

"Wait how did you…" The words die in your mouth as you start to utter them. You realize the implications of his words and a sickening fear creeps into your eyes as you realize that there is no protecting Bones from these people. You also realize that now you can't escape without endangering her too; if she can't be influenced then they'll just eliminate her. Despair falls heavily on your shoulders. Then a realization strikes you.

"Hold on why would she falsify evidence if she thinks that you're FBI? There would be no way to get her to do that anyway even to save me." You don't want to think that you're not as important to Temperance as the facts are but it's probably true; she believes in the system.

"Oh I never said that she would be falsifying any information, all I said was that there were certain cases that required to be 'interpreted in a certain light.' This whole situation is more to get her to 'focus' on certain very pressing matters namely your disappearance and well-being rather than on cases that would normally fall under her purview; since in light of the circumstances she cannot focus her attention on these other cases…" He shrugs his shoulders and grins at you "well these other matters will just be shunted to other forensic teams for the sake of expediency and concern for the good Doctor during a time of hardship for her. And trust me when I tell you that we correctly predicted which images would have the most effect on influencing her attention." He's laughing now. That fucker is laughing about how much Bones' is suffering because of you. Bastard is using you to hurt Bones.

You don't know what comes over you. Suddenly the only thing that you can focus on is hurting the bastard that caused Bones pain. There is something to be said about rage; adrenaline pumps through your veins and the pain disappears as your vision tunnels focusing on his sickening self-assured smile. You notice that he stops smiling as you fling yourself over the table knocking over the water bottle as you reach for his throat. You dimly note that his hand dives under his coat reaching for what you think is a weapon. Too late for him as you slam your body into his knocking him back in his chair. Time for some old school combatives you crooked FBI sonofabitch!

You're in the dominant mount straddling his chest and stomach, your knees jammed up into his armpits preventing him from getting any leverage to defend himself. Good he looks stunned and frightened. Left hook to the jaw and out pops a tooth. Hope that hurts you sick fuck. Right hand darts across his throat and grabs his collar; lean down and push your forearm into his throat. Yeah that's right you bastard. He tries to struggle but you push all your weight down on him feeling the windpipe crunch under your onslaught. His eyes are bulging staring at you as he feebly tries to hit you. Some distant part of you screams that you have to stop this or else he's going to die. That part is shouted out by your pounding heart; "He hurt Bones, he caused her to cry!" Images of Temperance crying, visions of her face showing sorrow; more fuel that your body is burning to overcome the pain and fatigue that encompasses it. Far away you hear a "crack" and suddenly your vision clears; painful images fade away as you gaze upon your handy work.

You don't even bother checking for a pulse, the way that his neck is bent there is no way that he's still alive. You try to avoid his eyes which are starring out into nothingness seeing everything and nothing. You hate it when you kill even when you have to. Who was he really? Did he have a family? Where there people who loved him unconditionally out there who will miss him now? You can't let such questions affect you now there's too much at stake here. You have to get out of here and warn Bones. You stash away your misgivings for killing with a simple phrase: "That bastard caused Bones pain."

Well hello what have we here? Looks like he had a weapon on him after all; hell you even recognize what type it is. 9mm Para Browning, you knew an Iraqi cop back in the Sandbox who absolutely raved about it, it was all that he'd use day in and day out. Nice, solid and with enough power to get the job done. You keep checking Tim and come out with a spare mag and a wallet with ID and some cash. Instinctively you check over the weapon and ammo; only 28 rounds and the weapon looks to be well maintained.

Well Tim you snarky little crooked FBI Agent it doesn't look like you're going to need those clothes anymore and quite frankly you could do with not being quite so naked, plus where else are you going to store your spare ammo? Two minutes later and here's Special Agent Seeley Booth. Clad in ill-fitting clothes from a dead man, bare foot because his shoes don't fit, face covered in dirt, hair askew, and bruises and cracked bones aplenty. You have one slightly used pistol, one spare mag and a wallet with… $42 and someone else's driver's license. Heh, 42. You recall that Zach told you that the answer to the meaning of life was "42" he said he read it somewhere. Hopefully that's a good omen. You sadly recall that he went on to say that it was completely illogical and explained it until your eyes glazed over. You remember that someone told you that "with life comes death." And wouldn't you know it you hear raised voices and the sound of boots running towards the door. It seems like as soon as you find the answer to the meaning of life, death wants to challenge the conclusions. Well Seeley old man it looks like you're stuck in the middle of nowhere surrounded by people who want to torture and kill you and yet the only thing you can think about is a beautiful face marred by tears.

"Well some things stay the same even when you change jobs." You ruefully mutter as an old cadence runs in your mind…


	4. We Parachute in

**AN: Once again I don't own Bones and thank you all for your reviews. I'm sorry for this taking so long but consider it this year's Christmas gift from me to you as I've gone back and edited this half a dozen times in the last few days trying to make it as exciting as I can. Also the English major in me wants to say that this is being written in the second person not the first; just wanted to make that clear. Enjoy.**

_**Someday you'll be alone**__,_

The door bursts in and you see three men rush in and a slight grin appears on your face as you see their features register surprise and fear. The one on the left almost trips over Tim's corpse as he runs into the room and knocks over the cooler and bags. Your stomach rumbles for a split second as you see a whole panoply of fruit and water spill onto the floor but you silence it as the situation develops. The ones on the left and right of the door are frightened out of their wits despite the clubs that they wield; the fear is palpable on their skin as their eyes flicker from the corpse on the ground to the pistol in your hand. They don't even look old enough to shave; damn fool kids in over their heads as the grunt muscle of criminal organizations. The third one, the one in the middle hardly stops in the door and is running straight towards you, knife in hand. The scars on his face mingle with his rough beard; eyes full of determination as he's experienced enough to know that his only chance is to hit you right away and get the pistol away from you. Too bad for him you're better at giving scars than receiving them.

First asses the most immediate threat; you see the hard-ass running at you looking to gut you with a knife. Looks like he's the biggest threat at the moment as the other two are just now starting to move in at you. Ok Seeley just like a drill back in CQM. Acquire the target, weapon at the high ready, weapon off safe, squeeze the trigger, acquire the target, squeeze the trigger, acquire the target, squeeze the trigger, weapon on safe, weapon back down at the low ready. Your ears ring as the high pitched bark of the Browning reverberates in the small room and echoes down the corridors; anyone in the vicinity knows something happened and is probably on their way to find out what happened. Time to move; there ain't no time to feel what you did so don't even think about it Seeley. You step over the body in front of you, the knife still gripped by cooling fingers as the rigor sets in. The splatter of grey mixed with red coats the back of the body and bits of brain matter are dripping from the door. Thankfully you can't see his face but you know that it looks like someone caved in his face with a hammer and scorched his skin afterwards. Unfortunately you can see the faces of the other two. The one on your left is bleeding all over the food and water, his left eye a juicy pile of gore smeared across his cheek and nose. The one on the right's jaw is hanging off of his right cheek; you must have got him right in the side of the head. You quickly make your exit leaving behind the remains and no small part of the humanity that you tried to restore when you left active service.

_**Way out there in a combat zone.**_

Your instinct kicks in as you move down the corridor your muscles return to old positions without you even consciously telling them to do so; muscle memory is a wonderful thing isn't it? You remember Bones asking you about the strange way you move at times when you think you're going to have to use your weapon. The question was so pure in its naiveté that you couldn't help but smile at it. You told her it was just the way you were trained; neglecting to mention why it was so necessary for you to know how to do it, it's far better to keep her from worrying and thinking about those reasons by never mentioning them to her. Feet shoulder width pointing in the exact same direction, slightly leaning forward on the balls of the feet, shoulders square to the front, weapon at a 45-degree angle, and scanning your sectors. The adrenaline pumping through your veins helps ease the pain and discomfort you're starting to feel; hitting a guy in the face with a hand that had been stabbed the day before is a lot less enjoyable than you thought it was at the time. Moving down the corridor as fast as you can, given the condition you're in; you come to the intersection that you were at before you went into the room. You carefully peek around the corner-

_**Bullets flying all around,**_

Holy shit! The first warning you had was a flash which seemed to fill up the entire damn world followed by what sounded like the end of days! Another good thing about adrenaline is that it makes your reflexes just a little bit faster which just saved you from getting pulped by a .45. The stone walls crack and bits of rock go flying everywhere; what those rounds would have done to your unprotected body… inadvertently your testicles crawl up into your belly with fear.

"Hey tovarisch! Toss your weapon out da! Boss promises that you'll live!" The bad English is enough to make you cringe; or that could be the second burst that he sends down the tunnel to emphasize his point.

"Hey Ivan how about you toss out your weapon first huh? You do that and I'll promise you that you'll live!" As you shout that out you ponder your options. You can't move into the corridor as there isn't any cover; you'd be turned into hamburger in seconds. Move back and try to draw them around the corner? A possibility but they'd probably just siege you and starve you out. They must have hidden cameras in the rooms, how else did they get pictures of you? Assuming that there really were any pictures and that the whole thing wasn't some sort of psychological torture. Hey what was that "whumping" sound? It's really fami-

_**Keep your head low to the ground. **_

A cylinder goes barreling down the corridor and loud curses from where they shot it from. Hey that was a 40mm grenade! They're shooting explosives at you?! They'd be insane to blow things up underground! Wait there wasn't an explosion… gas. It has to be gas. Most likely tear gas but if they got their hands on so much military hardware… looks like you're going to be in for a swell trip down memory lane. Fuck. *Whump* the second grenade bounces down the corridor past where you're crouching. You hear someone yelling at the Grenadier, most likely telling him that he was fucking retarded and was too blind or drunk to hit the target. That's what you'd say if you were in their position but hey that's just you. What's that smell? Oh God damn it they went and got their hands on CS gas. Military grade tear gas, oh bloody fucking wonderful; this is so not fair. In Basic they exposed you to the stuff for the first time ever; burning tons of the stuff in a small chamber and making you do PT or answering questions without a mask on; people who have never been through that don't know what the hell the word "agony" means.

Once when you were explaining the experience to Jared before he left for Annapolis trying to watch out for him by giving him all the knowledge you knew about the service; not that being at the Naval Academy was similar to Ft. Benning Basic. At least he had gone to join the Navy to be an officer and not the Army; the dapper and proper officer with a non-com for an older brother in the same service? You described it to dousing your body in rubbing alcohol after rubbing yourself down with sandpaper and nails. You forgot to mention how painful it was to breathe as well; like pouring gasoline into your lungs and lighting it. Why couldn't you be one of those lucky few people who were born immune to the stuff; Wishko was one lucky son of a bitch wasn't he? He waltzed in as calm as you please and never even sniffled even when they stuck his head in the damn barrel where they burned that crap. But noooooo you had to be just like everyone el- oh shit here comes the next one!

_**Don't you worry don't you have no fear, **_

Without thinking you sprint back towards the room; hopefully you can make it to the room before the cloud of gas catches- Nope too late. Well Seeley aren't you glad that you're so fucking lucky lately? At least you don't wear contacts otherwise they'd fuse to your retina in this stuff, plus you're wearing some clothing so be happy. That sweet and oh so pleasant sensation of having your lungs lit on fire from the inside and is that vomit you're choking on or just the snot dripping out of every conceivable part of your sinuses? You strongly suspect that the Devil doesn't actually have fire in Hell, only barrels and barrels of CS powder ready to go. Weeping and gasping; snot dripping out of your nose, eyes, and God knows where else you get out of the thick stuff and into semi-clear air. You whoop in air and hack and cough up a storm trying to get the stuff out of your lungs. Your eyes are watering but you can see just enough to make out the corner to see if anyone is trying to go through it. CS gas is mostly invisible so it's not going to obscure your eyesight anymore than the tears are doing already.

"All right tovarisch last chance! Come out with no weapon or we come to get you!" Fat chance you assholes, you've beaten, stabbed, shot at and gassed me already. You're not going to give those bastards anything that they're not willing to take. You shout out a particular Russian phrase that one of your buddies back in Ranger Bat. taught you after he'd come back from a "sightseeing trip" in the Ukraine. Loosely translated it has something to do with how his sister prefers your lovemaking prowess over his; not something that would be conducive to making amends. You sprint back until you're in the doorway to the room with the sweet sounds of what can only be loud Russian curses coming from down the hall. Ewwww squishy dead person; you can definitely emphasize with Bones when she says that she prefers bones to flesh because it's a lot cleaner. Gross, crushed spleen and brain chunks between your toes; why couldn't these guys have shoes that fit your feet? Of all the criminals in the world and you had to be kidnapped by ones whose feet are smaller than yours. Taking cover behind the wall aiming down the sights to the corner all you can do is wait. "Hurry up and wait", some things never change.

Loud thunderous clumping up ahead, they're going to try and bum rush you thinking that you're completely incapacitated by the gas. Well looky there isn't that a vintage set of gas gear that the first guy is wearing? Too bad that his heavy rubber suit is two sizes too big and his mask is all jacked up on his face. Seriously if you're a criminal organization looking to hire mercenaries at least have some sort of screening process to get the cheese dick fucktards from actually getting the jobs. The range is long for a pistol, about 60 meters but what the hell you only live once right? The pistol barks in your hands and you see a spurt of blood shoot out from- Oh God that last shot went really low didn't it? You were aiming for center of mass around his chest and stomach but you got him… at least you set him up for a Darwin Award. You can't even imagine how that feels; and with CS gas getting in there too- Ok Seeley enough about that and focus on the other guy stumbling towards you. Haha he tripped over the guy writhing on the floor. Damn they can scream loudly in those masks can't they? It's like a bad Three Stooges skit only with guns taking the place of hammers; Larry, Curly it's been nice knowing you but Moe thinks it's time for you to shut the fuck up! The pistol barks once, twice; suddenly the corridor is quiet, albeit much messier than it was a few minutes ago.

_**Your Ranger God is gonna be near. **_

You strain to hear for the sounds of anyone moving; you try to tell your heart to quit beating like a jackhammer and to quiet down so that you can hear. Come on Seeley you have to move! But how are you going to get past that gas without getting too impaired to keep going? You suddenly remember the bottles of water from the cooler! First step rip dead guys shirt into a big face mask looking piece of cloth; step two soak with water and wrap around mouth. Alright now instead of smelling the spicy tinges of the gas you smell the blood and shit from someone you shot; lucky you're not squeamish right?

Swiftly, well sort of; your body still hurts all over but the pain is dulled a bit at the moment, you move down the corridor and come upon the bodies still bleeding from the holes in their suits. You blink away the sting of the gas as you put the pistol into your waist band and grab the Thompson. It's really heavy; still has plenty of ammo in the drum but you have no idea of how much. Not that you're complaining; the sheer thrill of once again holding a fully automatic weapon is enough to get your adrenaline rushing all over again. Sweets would say that such a reaction is part of the whole psychology of being a male; Bones would bitch-slap him and say it was some sort of anthropological norm set by society that males are drawn to loud destructive objects. Of course "bitch-slap" might be too literal a turn of phrase but you have to admit it's really hot when she gets all "in your face" when arguing with people; besides you still think that she needs to slug Sweets for his part in not telling her that you weren't really dead. Bones packs one hell of a punch; you suspect that she's probably wild in- hey Seeley knock it out! Focus! Back to reality here and do not go into a fantasy dream world.

This time when you peek around the corner you don't see any one there; good that means you can keep moving and get the hell away from this gas. Fuck, you know the stuff dissipates fairly quickly but it still burns. Twenty paces down and you toss away the rag over your mouth and start to breathe in nice cool clean air and not CS and blood tinged air. It makes a world of a difference doesn't it? Hold it there's a door to your front. Weapon up and slink over to the door nice and easy. You wait a few seconds without hearing anyone on the other side. Ok is it empty or is there someone waiting for you with a weapon drawn? Either way you can't stay here. 1…2…3!

_**Someday you'll be alone,**_

No one here, good. Hey this looks like some sort of monitoring room! You can see three monitors showing your cell, the interrogation room, and the room with the dead bodies. Hmm what else of value is here? Looks like two other doors in this room and- hello! You crouch down under the monitors and find what looks to be a stereo system setup complete with DVD/VHS and a CD player only the wires are heading into the walls… a cold shiver runs up your spine as you realize that this was probably where they made those pictures of you; … and where those bastards played those noises into your cell. Without thinking you slam the butt of the Thompson into system. Bits of plastic go flying as in a rage you start bashing the thing into rubble. Hey hold on a sec Seeley you're still stuck in this place right? You wrench yourself from that broken bit of terror and electronics and move over to the door on the left. Your blood's up now so no more being quiet. You rush into the room ready to unleash a torrent of bullets only to- Well well well what do we have here? Same place where you started in this little mess only this time you're armed and aren't being stabbed. Your gaze wanders over to a blood soaked chair and table; you can spot the little space on the other side of the mirror large enough for a man to stand, it must have been where that nameless bastard was taunting you. Your left hand twinges uncontrollably in pain. It takes more than a little discipline and self control to keep from shooting out that damn mirror; you head back to the monitoring room your blood pounding in your veins. Looks like that other door is the way out of here and to whatever happens to be outside.

Your heart is beating in overdrive now as you can taste the faint feeling of freedom from this place. The sweat sparkles off your brows and gets into your eyes bringing in days worth of grit and blood with the salty water. You cautiously lean up to the door and slowly open it up to the outside bracing yourself for a torrent of hate coming your way. For a brief moment you wonder why you haven't spotted any other prisoners here underground with you. Suddenly that wonder disappears and is replaced with equal parts horror and anger. You must have been extremely important indeed to have merited such generous and comfortable living accommodations.

Your eyes walk over a row of squat wooden boxes behind the shed where they drug out that fire hose. A row of a dozen wooden boxes about four and a half feet tall set into a concrete slab with fist sized holes cut out at regular intervals all over the sides and a half a foot section at the bottom cut away giving you a glimpse of five pairs of feet and ankles stained black with dirt, grime, and shit. These men have been forced into these boxes and can neither stand up because they're so short nor sit down because they're too narrow; the chill wind whips their freezing bodies through the holes and it's quite obvious that the only way to clean up their waste is to spray the area with the fire hose a dozen feet away. Probably with them still inside if the bruises visible on their feet and legs mean anything.

You keep pieing off the outside with your weapon up, ready for anything. The sun is low in the sky which makes seeing difficult; you have no idea if it's early in the morning or heading towards night. For some reason you don't see anyone walking around the open area; you'd have bet money that the guards would have alerted somebody that you've made an escape attempt or at least the crackle of gunfire. The wind picks up and whips through the trees making an eerie howling that chills your skin and sends uncontrollable shivers up your spine. Most likely nobody is on guard because they'd all rather be inside away from the wind and they're so convinced of their safety here that they think that nothing will happen because of it. You quietly shut the door behind you so if anyone does come out to look then it might fool them into thinking that nothing's amiss.

In the distance down along the hill across from the clearing where they sprayed you down and fed you, light filters out from some sort wooden structure. Probably the barracks that these guys occupy or some sort of blockhouse for whomever is supposed to be on watch. It must be heading on towards night as the sky is getting darker and the shadows of the trees are lengthening; the slivers of light from the structure seem unnaturally bright set alongside this encroaching darkness. You push out away from the lights heading in the opposite direction. It's less likely that they'll notice you if you're heading off this way and maybe you can find some way over the wire this way; a tree you can climb or something like that.

As you creep away into the darkness a sense of "contentment," that's the only way you can really describe it to yourself, falls over you. It's like this every time you went out into the darkness, the woods, the desert sands or craggy mountains. The feeling of being totally in control over yourself and of your surroundings; wits luck and training are what you have against whatever the world has in store for you. Of course with that "contentment" comes with it a sense of "loneliness," even when you were a sniper there was always someone with you, your observer was your partner. The man who would guide and point you in the right direction to make that final strike; you and Hank were as close as brothers, closer in fact. At least until he got hurt. It damn near killed you to see the closest person in your life to get hurt in the line of duty; the only thing worse than that would be if something happened to Parker.

One of the hazards you've learned from the life you've led has been what happens when you let someone get close to you and you see them get hurt because of what you've done. The pain and the guilt are physical and psychic reminders of painful memories and experiences. When you saw Bones get shot by that crooked sheriff for a split second you saw yourself back in Kosovo when Hank got hit; killing that crooked cop caused you the least amount of guilt and grief of any of the men you've killed in your life. You can't let her get hurt because you weren't there to protect her, she's your partner and the closest friend you have.

_**But your Ranger God is gonna bring you home.**_

As these thoughts whirl in your head your eyes peer into the evening light and see something promising. A small rivulet under the wire caused by what looks to be a small stream from higher up in the hills. The mud is cold and wet as you quietly scrape away at the earth trying both to dig as fast and as quietly as you can while simultaneously keeping your head up and alert swiveling around looking for any signs of a guard. The minutes seem to drag on into eternity as your pulse pounds in your ears, the scrapes of mud and rock sound deafeningly loud to you even though the wind is howling loud enough to wake the dead. It looks like the little rivulet is large enough for you to crawl through now but it's going to be a tight squeeze; at least you won't have to worry about the little alarms scattered throughout the wire because those things are already going off as the wind jostles them around like so many babies rattles.

Carefully you lie down on your back and toss the pistol to the other side, there's no sense in letting it get caught or fall out as you crawl through. With the Thompson above you held in your hands you gently push the wire up as you slither through. Slither might be too active a word for this because you're not moving very fast and the little trench is not that deep or wide. You can see the sharp points and edges of the concertina wire as you pass through less than an inch underneath them. You can only pray that nobody shows up because there is no way that you can defend yourself at the moment.

Your head passes through the wire and bumps up against your pistol. Keeping from grimacing from the bruising that's already there you carefully keep slithering your body out of the rivulet. Your legs are the hardest part, not only is there no way for you to use the Thompson to push the wire up but the cold is starting to cause you to cramp up making it difficult to move. No sooner does that thought run through your head you suddenly see a light moving down on the other side of the wire. Oh shit they must be walking the wire. You only see one flashlight so there might only be one guy but you never know. You guesstimate that the patrol is about 200 meters away but they're headed in your direction so you have to get out of the wire ASAP.

OW FUCK!!!!! Your foot just got snagged in the fucking wire!!!! You see Seeley that's what happens when you try to move quickly through wire. Carefully you pry your damaged appendage off of the wire hoping that the wire wasn't rusty or anything because getting lockjaw would really suck. Why you're worried about something like lockjaw down the road when you should really be worried about getting caught and shot in the next five minutes is really kind of silly but then again being silly is one of your ways to keep from breaking under the stress. You pick up the pistol and put it back in your pocket and quickly slink away into the woods not knowing where the hell you're headed as long as it's away from here.

As you creep through the woods you suddenly get an idea. You grab handfuls of the dirt and rocks and leaves and put it into your pockets. Hopefully when you get back to the Jeffersonian Hodgins can figure out where this place is so you can come back and clean house on these bastards. Of course that would involve you first getting back to the Jeffersonian which at the moment is a little distant. You keep walking on into the night trying to put as much distance between you and that place as you can. After walking for about twenty minutes you stop and bind your foot with ragged scraps torn from your shirt. Walking barefoot sucks but walking barefoot with a nasty gouge in your foot sucks even more.

You keep up your dogged movement through the woods thankful that the trees shield you from the wind but cursing them for also obscuring the sky. If you could see the stars then you could at least orient yourself towards north and possibly figure out which direction you're going. So here you are Seeley, alone in the dark wilderness, tired, hurt, with no doubt some angry people coming to find you come morning at the latest. But you have your wits, your weapons, your skill and above all a burning desire to get back to the Jeffersonian to get these bastards before they can hurt your partner. With this goal in mind you stalk off into the darkness not knowing where you're going but trusting in God to direct you to where you're needed.


	5. We Parachute out

**AN: As has been stated before I do not own Bones and reviews are welcome. Apologies for this taking so long to update but my plate has been quite full these past few weeks; dissecting Reformation Europe is far more time consuming when you couple it with massive re-organization and planning meetings. That being said "Double Trouble in the Pan-Handle" was quite possibly the worst episode I've ever seen but "Fire in the Ice" more than made up for the disappointment; Booth inflicted pain ::laughs::. Questions/comments/reviews/complaints/threats/etc. are all welcome and given my workload at present will all be ignored in an equal fashion until things start getting easier on my end.  
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Well Seeley now what?

You've managed to escape from harrowing captivity and certain pain and discomfort; congratufuckinglations on that by the way, your body count is how high now?; and have boldly set off into the dark woods of Appalachia with no shoes, a whole mess of cuts and bruises, and absolutely no fucking clue where you are or where you're headed. Your foot twinges painfully with every step you take reminding you that you don't have much time to beat feet until a whole manner of unfriendly starts tracking you down.

Of course with it being so dark out with it being night and all moving fast is something a mite more difficult than it sounds. Even with your eyes adjusted to the dark you can barely make out trees more than a few paces in front of you, and- *Whack!* Pain! The stabbing hurting pain! Yeah, the only way you can find out where the branches and twigs are is by feeling for them with your soft bloodshot eyeballs or your bruised and abused balls, grimly recalling several very springy bushes blessed with an unholy sense of accuracy.

You're quite thankful that you have no idea how long you've been, to be quite honest, blundering aimlessly in the woods; it would only make you depressed. You just have to will away the fatigue that you feel with the promise that after you get out of this place you'll treat yourself to a very very very well deserved vacation somewhere with a hot-tub. Of course you're not one for taking baths all that often but in this instance the relaxation is called for. Why is it that you only find it necessary to take baths after life-threatening experiences? Heck the last time you took a bath Bones showed up, you still say that she broke in and that rock is a clever hiding place damnit!, so maybe this time she'll show up again? Hell a guy can wish can't he? Of course you wouldn't admit thinking or God-forbid wishing for her to show up when you're naked to anyone this side of being crucified but thankfully nobody can read minds. Although Angela has shown a disturbing talent at doing just that, best not to think about that around her.

Hey nothing wrong with a little indulgence in your fantasy world right at this moment because quite frankly reality sucks at present. Come on God could you cut a guy at least a little break?

Wearily you trudge onwards in the dark forest, at least there aren't any weird bone things hanging from the trees or any headless witches coming out to chop off your head. Of course even a headless ghost-witch would probably say "Uncle!" to a belt of .45 slugs; speaking of which the Thompson is starting to feel really heavy in your arms what with it weighing a lot and you being all tired and tortured and everything. Perhaps you should ditch the weapon somewhere so you can move faster?

Never mind, scratch that thought. Hearing a wolf howl in the dead of night is enough to make your skin crawl and clutching that Thompson close to your body feels so very reassuring right now.

Wait a minute. What the hell is that? Too big to be a tree or even a tight copse of them; to even looking… your finger gently caresses the cold steel of the trigger guard. Slowly you stalk up and let your eyes pan over the entirety of the thing; looks to be an old burned out building with a heavy emphasis on old. Burnt and rotted logs about six feet long are stacked up like the wall of a Lego log cabin that Parker used to play with; mounds of broken wood and dirt surround the short wall in a way to make it look like it was once part of a cabin. If there was a cabin here then maybe there was a path or a road out of here nearby? You're probably going to have to wait until it gets light because if there is a path then it's going to be as old and dilapidated as this cabin which is going to make it impossible to find in the dark.

You meander around a bit looking blindly into the dark hoping against hope for some sort of path so you won't have to wait until it's light out. You spend what seems like forever fruitlessly stumbling about hoping to find something before you give up and head back to the ruins. You'll hide out nearby and come back to search later. You remember your pace count don't you? 65 paces for every hundred meters was what you calculated for yourself when you were back in active service. Methodically you pick a direction perpendicular from the path you came from and carefully pace out 200 meters then make a sharp right face and pace out another 100 meters until you find yourself in a rather dense and nasty speck of brush and undergrowth. Perfect.

You slither into the brush carefully mussing up the trail you leave behind you and cover yourself in dirt and leaves giving you a modicum of both concealment and insulation. You carefully orient yourself back in the direction that you came from and lay down the Thompson's muzzle roughly at the path that you took; hopefully you're being over cautious but you really can't risk anything at the moment. You only realize how exhausted you are as you slowly allow yourself to calm down and…

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-have to get to him and stop the bleeding. There might still be a chance. Plus Chung still has the radio and you need to guide those Zoomies and bring the rain and kill all of these dress wearing camel fuckers.

"I'm up, he sees me, I'm down!" you don't know why you always yell that out when you rush from cover. You got it beat into you in Basic crawling through red Georgian dirt and it never quite left you. Not that anyone is paying the slightest bit of attention to you at the moment because shit has hit the fan and broken the blades and motor. You taste the dust as you slam yourself down behind a small boulder; thousands of years of shit from man and beast mixed with ash, the acrid stench of carbon, and God alone knows what else overwhelms your senses.

"I'm up, he sees me, I'm down!" you roll and slam yourself into the gray broken rock. Only a couple more meters, you can see Chung's boot protruding from behind that pile of rocks.

"I'm up, he sees me, I'm-" Crack! Hell yes you're down. Damnit Seeley why did you have to go and get yourself shot. Again. You panic as you glance down at your semi-prostrate body looking at the jumble and mess of combat webbing, water, ammo, and too damn much other crap. Ah jeez why did they have to go and shoot your flashlight? Nights in Afghanistan are dark damnit and taking a leak while in battle rattle is difficult enough as it is. You can't believe for the millionth time that you re-upped for this shit. Anyway where were you? Ah yes. Just another meter or so…

"Hey Chung don't worry bud-" the words die on your lips as you rush over the rocks and get down next to Chung. Poor bastard, damn RPG caught him square in the torso; that looks like bits of lung and heart adorning the tip of the goddamn thing. Does the radio work?

"Victor one fife this is victor one six say again all after 'vicinity grid.' Over"

You hastily grasp the map and radio handset casually brushing off the matted bits of gore on the mouthpiece.

"Victor one six this is victor one fife vicinity grid whiskey charlie. Aight six seven faur tree. Niner seven aight two. How copy? Over."

"Victor one fife this is victor one six good copy. Bird's in the sky. Out."

"Victor one fife this is papa seven mark your target location. Over."

"Wilco."

You paw through your LCE and pull out a smoke grenade and find just where to put it. Twist, pull, pin and off it goes in the air. In seconds that seem to drag on forever a cloud of green smoke rises up into the sky.

"Victor one fife I see green smoke. Over."

"Papa seven I see you inbound east of my position. We have infantry along the ridge line north and west two hundred meters from green smoke. Danger close cleared hot. Over."

"Victor one fife I see the targets coming in hot, tell your boys to get small down there. Over."

"Get down take cover!" Your lungs and throat are raspy as you bellow this out for, hopefully, everyone in the vain hope that they can hear you as you throw yourself down.

The roar physically buffets you against the ground as the jet shoots by; suddenly the world explodes into fire. The light overwhelms you. The light. The-

-light of the sun pierces the shady gloom of your makeshift hiding spot as you suddenly jerk awake. Wow you do feel slightly refreshed as your eyes no longer feel like they're supporting lead weights, but sleeping on the cold rocky ground has done nothing for your back or your myriad of other injuries. Hopefully nothing gets infected before you can reach someplace safe. The growl of your stomach and your parched throat remind you of how bad off you are without any food or water to keep your battered body going. You quietly just lay there and listen for sounds of any sort of pursuit or hunt in the woods. Time crawls by as you just lay there with, as you suddenly realize, a myriad of small crawly creatures making their merry way up and down your back.

You decide that nobody is in the immediate vicinity looking for you; given what you saw of them back in the compound they probably aren't the type who would be totally suited for stalking someone through the woods. Gingerly you slink out the way you came and cautiously get up on your feet, wincing as pain shoots through your cut foot. That looks angry and red, not good Seeley, not good at all. You carefully pace back to where the burnt cabin was, eyes peeled and scouting about for signs of anyone else out here.

The woods look a lot different in the light of day, the trees are actually visible and you aren't poking your eye out every tenth step. There isn't too much undergrowth like those woods where you found that decapitated body; it's very clear and open with the only undergrowth being thin twiggy baby trees and bushes who barely reach the ankles of their larger brethren who surround them. You can make out the ruins just ahead.

You carefully look over the ruined building looking for anything that might be of value; burnt wood and dirt are the limits of things- wait. You notice a small pile of stones in a vague circular pattern… a well! Water! Things are looking up for you Seeley. Now to just… oh for the love of… damn thing is completely clogged with leaves, branches, rocks, and dirt. Godalmightydamn! Well maybe there is a trail here so this whole thing isn't a complete episode that somebody set up here just to fuck with you when you are in extremely desperate straits.

*rustle*

You whirl about with the Thompson raised up in the high ready finger almost touching the trigger just itching to… vaporize a very terrified looking squirrel who scampers off down a rough dirt trail away from you. A trail! Ha you'd probably have spent another hour minutes looking for the damn thing if that squirrel hadn't shown it for you. You can barely make out the outline of the thing as it meanders through the trees; in spots leaves and debris cover up the dirt which tells you that the thing is very old and out of use.

It's not just your Ranger training that tells you that, Sniper school was a hell of a lot more than just learning how to put a bullet through a man at close to half a mile away. Memory, tracking, stealth, and observation are all keys that they pumped into you. They'd be yelling at you and distracting you with a million little things as you made your way about to your classes on post and then ask you what had been changed on the bulletin board down near the entrance to the building between now and yesterday. As you make your way down the trail you think ruefully that such concentration and aptitude for detail is a bit of a perishable skill because you'd have thought that after nearly four years with your squints you'd know what they were talking about when describing a body. Of course in your defense you've had your attention *ahem* distracted from time to time. If asked you could describe in great detail every curve and angle of Bones in her lab coat and most of the rest of her clothes. Wait, why are you even thinking this right now? Come on Seeley you're trying to get out of these stinking woods and get somewhere safe so you can get back to the Jeffersonian and make out wi- wait, to keep Bones safe. At least Parker is safe with Rebecca. You never thought you'd say this but her taking him with her to Vermont for the week turned out to be a good thing after all.

You keep heading down the path noticing that its getting steeper as you keep on walking. Wait was that… oh thank you God that looks like a road down the trail! You hurry up and through the trees you can barely make out the sweet wonderful and beautiful yellow hash marks on worn down asphalt. Keeping your head on the level, you hang back in the tree line before you decide to follow your gut to head to your left towards what you think is the east. Not wanting to frighten anybody driving along the road or to give yourself away to anyone looking for you, you keep to the brush that borders the road noticing gleefully that there are either power or telephone lines bordering the road. That means that there is some sort of habitation down the road somewhere eventually.

Of course what are you going to do when you get there, or flag someone down to get you to safety? You have no ID on you, you look like shit (and smell like it too), are covered in mud and blood, you're tired, hungry, and are currently packing two weapons on you. You can't just waylay someone because they'd either speed away or run you down and there's no guarantee that they're not out here looking for you on orders of whoever took you in the first place. Wait you do have an ID on you, and cash! Of course it's a dead guy in the picture who doesn't look like you but maybe, just maybe you can pull it off. You quick check the name on the ID. "John Dough." Oh for fucks sake. If this whole thing wasn't so twistedly hilarious already you'd bust a nut laughing at the absurdity of it.

Well Seeley here's your chance to impersonate a man whose neck you broke. Looks like there's a semi coming down the road not all that fast. You decide to chance fate, quickly stashing the Thompson in the bushes and concealing the pistol in your waistline you step out onto the road holding up your stolen ID and shield waving for the driver to slow down. Miraculously the driver does and comes to a halt just in front of where you're standing. Wait that guy looks familiar. Is that…?

"Booth! Holy Jesus big Sarge what the hell are you doing all the way out here in Bumblefuck West Virginia? And what the hell happened to you?!" The round faced brown-skinned trucker with a slight baritone voice yells out as he steps down out of the truck, rushing over to you in concern. How many times did you sit in tents and rooms with this guy discussing just how and in great detail you were going to end the lives of men who deserved it?

"Williams? Is that you?! Holy shit man how are you?" You rush over and you both embrace each other in a bear hug; tears almost sting your eyes as you realize that despite all the odds against it you found someone all the way out here that you can trust to help you. Specialist Williams was a Military Intelligence guy attached to your BN support staff who would help assist and interpret data on targets which you would later use to eliminate said targets. Unlike some of the other REMFs that you knew Williams was someone who you could get along with an ease that was uncanny.

"Hey Williams, I'll explain later but right now I need you to get me to the Jeffersonian Center in Washington D.C. as fast as you can because right now I've gotten wrapped up in a regular Goat Rodeo complete with football bats and soup sandwiches." You're surprised how easy the military lingo returns to you when you're around guys who'd understand what you're saying without having to stop and explain every third word to people. If it were anyone else you'd just say that things are really really screwed up.

"Hey Big Sarge, ain't no problem just hop up into my cab and I'll get you there before you realize. Damn it's nice to see a battle buddy after all these years. Hell battle, I even got me some grub in the cab you can have 'cause you look like something the cat dragged in." He heads back to the truck trying to usher you in but you turn away and rush into the woods.

"Hang on a minute I need to get something, just get her warmed up and I'll join you in a sec."

"No problem big Sarge, I'll be right here waiting for you to explain just what the hell you got yourself into this time." You can hear the grin of anticipation in his voice; he probably thinks that you got ditched out here by some buddies as a prank to see how long it took you to get back. Of course he would think that because you and a few of your squad mates did wind up doing that to one joker back in Battalion who would just not shut up about how he was top in his survival class. The Article 15 that the Lt. later gave you was more of a nod and a wink then a reprimand; he was positively laughing as he dismissed you and your mates to go on disciplinary detail.

His eyes get as wide as saucers as you climb into the cab grasping the Thompson and stowing it between your legs as you shut and lock the doors. He says nothing but quickly locks the doors and puts the pedal to the metal as he starts to speed off down the road. It takes him a good minute to start talking as you're completely silent just reveling in the feeling that you're safe for now and can finally sit down. The seat is old and beat down with coffee stains and bits of trash and dirt all over but it feels like you just got knocked up with a syringe of morphine.

"Ok Booth now just tell me what the fuck I've just gotten myself into by helping you. You know that I'd do damn near anything for a battle, including breaking the law but damnit there is a limit!" He sounds torn between scared and outraged.

"Williams you know I work for the FBI right?" You wait for him to nod. It was common knowledge that you were a part timer when you were going into OEF and OIF. You re-upped after 9/11 taking a leave of absence from the FBI and after you got captured in '03 you got out and back to the civilian world; still in the Inactive reserves but you don't think you'll ever put on the uniform again.

"Well I can't tell you much given that I don't really know everything that going on right now, but what I think is that me and my partner finally got enough crime lords annoyed that they decided to try and take me out of the game and to use me as leverage against the FBI. They've tortured me and starved me and I just busted out of where they were holding me and I stole some clothes and weapons; killing some of the bastards and I've just spent hours wandering in the woods looking for help and will you please tell me where that grub is because I haven't eaten in at least a day." You wearily and almost desperately talk spilling out the gist of the story to him, hoping that he believes you and takes you seriously.

He nods to you, a barely perceptible motion that conveys the feeling that you've convinced him.

"Alright big Sarge, I believe you. Damn me to Hell if I think this whole thing is crazy but I believe you. Got some water and sandwiches packed in a cooler behind your seat; Melanie always packs me extras when I go out on the road. Having a woman in the home sure helps you put on weight." He grins at that and reaches over and pulls out a red and white cooler.

"Hahaha yeah I can understand that, so you married her when you got out huh?" He was one of the happy lucky ones whose relationship lasted while he was in the service; it's a tough life especially for a significant other. You rummage through the cooler grabbing a bottle of water and a turkey sandwich and begin attacking them like you'd never seen food before.

"Yup got myself a wife, got me a steady job, got a little one on the way. Life's been pretty good to me, how about you did you ever get back together with whatshername… Rebecca and your kid?" You vaguely recall way back then when you still held hope that you two could get back together after Parker was born, of course your being back in the service didn't exactly help that. You finish your sandwich and water before replying.

"No we ended up separating for good by the time I got back to the world, Parker is doing well though. I get to see him not enough but with what just happened I suppose that's all for the better." You fight back your mixed feelings on the subject. Normally it tears you up that you don't get to see your little boy nearly as often as you should but when things go bad you're glad that he's hundreds of miles away and safe. Fed and watered you just lean back into the seat and barely fight keeping your eyes open.

"Damn man that's cold, but shit you're damn lucky you're heading to D.C. because I'm hauling some furniture to Baltimore and D.C. isn't far out of the route I'd be taking anyway. It doesn't look like you're going to try and keep me in the loop for now so I'll just drive and I'll wait until a few hours from now for you to start talking again." He nods respectfully to you and turns his attention back to the road. You're thankful for his consideration and stare blankly out at the passing by trees until your eyes shut and you know nothing more.

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AN: Hope you enjoyed it and pardon the military slang and jargon but I do my best to keep it authentic. Thank you again for your patience and hopefully I can get the next chapter out in a few weeks. Enjoy this and review it please.**


	6. Death from Above

**AN: Hi all once again I don't own Bones. Just so you know all the names of soldiers mentioned in this fic are actual people I serve with and the little humourous stories are actual stories. If anyone wants to listen to the song that is later mentioned by name there is a link in my profile. Please enjoy and review; any reviews would make me smile as this is finals week and I'm a little distracted at the moment.**

-light is overwhelming. The myriad spectrum of orange, red, and yellow and everything in between encompasses and envelopes the ridge in front of you. The only things cutting down on its brilliance is the impossibly huge cloud of dust and smoke billowing out from the impact and the matted sweat and blood clinging to your eyebrows and matted to your eyepro. The concussion of the blasts surpasses all other sounds so close the impacts were to your position. You blink and stare at the overwhelming awe that is a blast caused by a pair of 500lb bombs dropped less then 500meters away. Of course the concussion also lifts you up and slams you down like you were a baby's toy. Damn why did you have to think of that, it's only going to remind you that Rebecca is taking care of Parker. It kills you that they're on the other side of the world and the uncertainty of how they are is often worse than the fear that you feel when you're getting shot at. It doesn't help that she wouldn't marry you either which makes everything so goddamn complicated.

Wait Seeley, stop. Don't think about this you still have work to do. First thing is to direct the bird to drop some more of his crap on Hajji's head. Oh- God Damn! The radio's crushed by some of the debris blown loose by the blast. Speaking of which a chunk of rock the size of a Volkswagen suddenly appears about five feet from your head; *WHUMP* and suddenly you find yourself in a dust cloud coughing and hacking and not being able to see a damn thing.

Weakly you clamber up to observe the situation; such as it is. You lift up your eyepro to get a clearer view of the little slice of hell that your squad managed to inherit, suddenly wishing that you kept the goggles firmly down on your face as the dust gets into your eyes suddenly making you blind as you blink out the grit. Who do you still have left? How many of the enemy? Who's dead or wounded?

Down about 25 meters behind a pile of rocks you see Harper ripping off Vandercook's IBA and webbing desperately trying to apply aid while Awanbor seems to be trying to keep him covered by shooting off rounds to their 3o'clock. Swayne's down next to him cursing like only a soldier can as he tries to perform remedial action on his jammed M16. To your right Miller, Stear and Alsept are pinned down occasionally squeezing off some rounds to your collective 6 hoping to pick off that .50 cal.

The .50 cal. You have to get rid of that or you're all going to die.

Glancing to your left you see Volgelzon's corpse. Damn .50 split him apart like a damn cantaloupe; guts and bone fragments quite simply exploded out of his torso and you can see right through his torn and mangled body, his legs separated by the body by a mess of blood and flesh. The exit wound is big enough to stick your foot through. And yet miraculously the AT-4 that he was humping is just lying there next to him, pristine.

You scramble over to the bloody gore that was once a living breathing man with hopes and dreams of his own; hope that wasn't his kidneys which just squished out underneath your boot heel as you lift up the AT-4 and get down behind cover again to arm your ticket out of here and to adjust the sights for range.

You quickly pop up to get a visual on the target.

Quick check behind you; unlike in the movies the back blast is enough to burn any man alive if he's unfortunate enough to be standing behind you or burn anyone too close.

Only one shot. Make it count Seeley, you might not be a sniper at the moment but you still need to hit your target.

In one swift motion you stand up out of cover exposing yourself to the entire world and all the hate flying around you; bringing the aiming arrows onto the target seems to take forever as you feel extraordinarily naked at the moment.

Moment of truth.

You squeeze down on the trigger with your right hand as you drop open your mouth to prevent overpressure injuries.

A wave of heat envelopes your back for a split second as you see the rocket fly out towards the target.

You know its bad form and incredibly stupid but you can't seem to drop back down into cover in the second after you fire. The trail of fire mesmerizes you…

Why are you falling?

Ooopmfh. The ground is hard. Your head and helmet bounces off the ground and rests there. You notice your M4 wedged down underneath you and the AT-4 slam down next to you.

You see the HEAT round slam into the rock in front of the .50 cal crew. Then you see the .50 cal and what you think is an arm goes flying in the air as the explosion obscures the ridge.

Blood.

Why is there blood?

Where did that blood come from?

Why is it suddenly hard to breathe?

"Booth!"

Suddenly you're staring up at the sky; a face obscures the light.

You don't feel rock under you but wood.

"Booth!" you make out Awanbor's face, his dark face mussed and grey from dust. You feel your IBA get ripped open and pressure applied to your chest.

"Booth you're gonna be fine. I'm right here! You're gonna be fine, you're gonna make this!"

Suddenly his dark face shimmers into a woman; beautiful, angelic. Azure gems cast in an ivory mold. You whisper something or try to before the curtain draws over you. No! You have to tell her! You have to tell her you-

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Screaming your eyes fly open and you jerk up and-

"OW OW OW OW OW SON OF A BITCH!"

A startled and amused Williams glances over at you and cracks up laughing with a big shit eating grin.

"Wow Big Sarge and good morning to you too sweetheart. Yeah be careful of the sun-visor, it kind of hurts when you stand up and slam your forehead into the edge."

You moan out something which you were pretty sure violated every commandment except for the one about false idols as you clutch your head. After this is done you're going to have to spend at least one full day in penance after confession.

"Hahaha Big Sarge now I'm fairly sure that, while my sister admittedly has some odd habits and is quite athletic, it would be anatomically unlikely for her to be able to that with a horse, a pine cone, and the entire Flyers team." Ok looks like it's going to be two days. He still has his damn shit eating grin plastered to his face.

You manage to get out a pitiful "Ugh where the hell are we?" as you reach down reaching down for a water bottle to wash out the delightful taste of dead ass which currently has taken up residence on your tongue.

"Best I can figure we're about 2 hours away from downtown D.C. so what the hell happened to you? You ready to tell me?"

You look away from him with a dead and hollow look in your eyes. You can't imagine how you look right now after getting beaten and tortured for a couple of days and then humping it through the woods for another. And as you told Bones in the diner you've been tortured worse. But even so it's not something that you want to share. Especially the noise. That noise. God forgive you but suicide is preferable to being subjected to that again. You fight back the memories as the pause stretches out longer and longer.

"…so… sorry man if it's still raw I understand." You shoot him a grateful look as you stare out into the darkness outside the cab. The clock radio says 10:18.

With a rueful cough you ask: "So… how's Melanie doing?"

"-and then I found five dollars."

You both are busting up laughing as you just talk and re-connect smoking and joking about time shared in the service, about family, about friends, about work, about normal stuff.

******************************************************************************************************************

The clock says 11:27.

Suddenly; in the middle of you telling Williams about how Gallagher, from back at Ranger Bat. not the punk who kidnapped you, was climbing the rafters in the barracks when suddenly a Major walked in to the room, a ringing sound sounds shrill into the night scaring you out of a year's growth.

"Hahahaha sorry Big Sarge, I like to leave myself little alarm reminders to help me keep awake on overnight routes. So Gallagher was just sitting on the rafters with his legs dangling down with a Major standing not two feet from his feet but not even noticing him? Hot damn but that is too funny!"

A cellphone! Holy cow you totally forgot about those.

"Williams you have a phone? Can I make a call on it?" You can warn Bones and keep her safe; get her away from the FBI and get her to her father. The only person more protective of Bones than you is Max Keenan and that's only because he's had more practice being her father and all.

"Sure man," he says laughing "but tell me the rest of that story first. What the hell were you guys doing when all this was going on?"

Anxious and nervous, special Booth protective powers kicking into overdrive here, you decide to humor him if it'll get you that phone.

"We were all just standing there at attention with eyes wide and lips locked trying not to bag up. We were all desperately willing Gallagher to not move his feet and he just might get away with it but the damn fool started to slowly lift his feet up to stay out of sight. The Major saw him, looked up and burst out laughing and just shook his head and walked out howling like a hyena. Can I have that phone real quick because I really need to make this call."

"Sure thing Big Sarge, here you go." He says tossing it across the cab to you.

By memory you punch in Bones' number, you have it memorized even though it's also your 1st number on speed dial.

You hear the dial tone and the phone ringing as you whisper inaudibly willing the call to go through and for her to pick up the phone. Your heart leaps into your throat as you hear her voice pick up on the other end.

"Brennan." She sounds… dead, totally devoid of the life and vitality that you always associate with her.

"Bones." Your voice cracks as you speak; emotions that you try to keep suppressed start clawing their way to the surface.

Silence and then…

"Booth?" Her voice is barely a whisper. You are going to eviscerate whoever is responsible for her pain. Slowly. With a dull rusty spork.

"Bones get to your dad, gather up the squints and get to the lab. Now. Do not leave the lab until I get there and do not under any circumstances trust anybody from the FBI. I'm still a little ways away but hurry over there. Don't argue just tell me that you'll do that, please?" There is so much else you want to say but you can't. You have to make sure that she's safe. You have to protect her.

"I… ok but Booth-" you cut her off.

"Bones please this isn't the time right now. I need to make sure that you're safe and at the Jeffersonian." Why can't she just let you be the overprotective alpha male just this once?

"Booth I already am at the lab, we all are. None of us have left since… since you…" Oh holy Mary mother of God is Bones starting to cry? You mentally add burning the bastard responsible alive after you gut him like a fish. Sorry Max but you're style is catchy.

"Bones… just… it's gonna be ok. Look I have to go I'll see you soon just stay safe." Damn right you have to go. If you keep talking to her your emotions are going to burst and you're going to start babbling and saying things which are just going to push her away and destroy your partnership. The line is there for a reason damn it!

"Booth! I- alright just… just get here." Her voice sounds so small and sad. You are going to torture the person responsible before you painfully dispatch him from this world. Damn the consequences.

A wave of emotion roils under your, hopefully, calm façade as you hang up and hand the phone back to Williams, who is looking distinctly uncomfortable at the moment. Just a little too much emotion there Seeley?

"Hey Big Sarge, things all right?"

"Yeah, just… just step on it." Damn but you sound emotionally drained at the moment and you haven't even seen her yet.

"Roger that man, lemme put some appropriate tunes in before I lay the pedal to the medal."

He grins as he slides in an unmarked CD. Suddenly the stereo blares out with a screwy star spangled banner with some sort of rapper talking incoherently before suddenly bursting out into a rap about "I'm a US motherfucking solider boy!"

"This is my battle music Big Sarge, just sit back and enjoy the ride."

Guess there's nothing to do but sit back and wait out the time it takes till you get to the Jeffersonian. You do have to admit that the music does get your blood pumping. Maybe you should write down the songs and get them later?

****************************************************************************************************************

As you both finish sniffing and crying from hearing _3000plus_ by Big Neal you realize that you're back at the Jeffersonian. Without a word Williams stops the truck and turns off the engine getting out and moving over to your side as you gingerly get out.

"Hey Big Sarge lemme help you get inside at least."

"Nah man I can- AGHHH," putting too much weight on your left foot is a bad idea yeah it's infected all right "on second thought I guess I can use a little help."

Without a word he gets onto your left side and you drape your arm across his soldiers as he lifts you up slightly to keep the weight off your left foot. You imagine that the pair of you makes a very unusual and frightening sight as you make your way up the path to the doors of the Medico-Legal lab of the Jeffersonian. You looking dirty, nasty, disheveled, and bloody and beat up wearing messy and torn ill-fitting clothes and gripping an ugly and scary looking sub-machine gun being supported by a fairly clean but undoubtedly military looking Williams. This sort of "soldier image" is unique to the quiet ivory halls that make up this bastion of higher learning; it's unique and foreign to any who haven't been baptized in hell. Good, you don't want any one back in this heaven to know any more of hell then they have to.

Your eyes blink as you walk through the sliding glass doors and into the lab room proper. It's just as you remember it pristine, bright, shiny and clean. Of course the security guards with drawn pistols on you are a new development.

"Drop the weapon!" Are you serious?

"Oh come on Hank you don't recognize me? It's been what 3 days and you forgot my face already?" Williams just looks on with a stoic face; evaluating the target in case the ROE suddenly changes.

"Special Agent Booth? Holy shit it's really you?" Hank and his partner holster their weapons. Finally, it's not like you're a stranger to this place.

"Yeah it's me, listen Hank don't let anyone from the FBI in here. Just keep them here and call for me alright?" Can't take any chances. You don't know how far the rot spreads.

"Alright." With a nod of thanks you turn your attention to the platform in time to hear a mixed scream/bellow of "BOOTH?!" and suddenly you find yourself mobbed and swarmed by the squints with a flurry of hugs and back slaps and cries of "Holy crap dude are you all right?"

Suddenly the swarm is thrown aside; literally, you dimly register Hodgins being tossed to the side by Bones before she tackles you in a bone crushing hug knocking the air out of you; literally, you think that another rib just cracked but you don't care. You ignore the pain in your body as you return the embrace with wordless but incredibly intense emotion. The whole world disappears in that brief moment of you just holding her. All the emotions and feelings that you've denied even to yourself come rising to the surface desperately trying to break out of the shell that you keep them in.

"Hey Bones nice to see you too."

"Booth," you can tell that her voice catches and that she's consciously trying to keep her voice calm "are-are you hurt? What happened to you?"

"I've felt better; are you ok?"

Slightly flustered she lets go of you but keeps very close to you.

"I've been worried about you, so worried. You're hurt." Her eyes widen in a mix of fear and concern as she examines you.

"I'm just fine Bones I just need a shower and a nap and maybe some pie." Understatement of the year there, even you think that you smell awful. Of course she doesn't believe you at all judging by how her eyes are moving all over you cataloguing all the cuts and bruises.

"Booth I know you're lying; your nasal cavity is clearly broken and judging by the way you're holding yourself your left side number 3 and 4 ribs are clearly broken. And don't think that putting some gauze and cloth can hide the puncture wounds on your left hand and foot. Also you smell like an overturned outhouse." She smiled faintly at that last bit as she crinkled her nose. You can't help but smile and chuckle at how pretty she looks when she does that.

You force your mind away from your partner and back to the unfortunate situation that you all find yourself in.

"Listen we can't talk here but I have things that I need to tell you guys some things before anything else can happen." They're all taken aback by the seriousness of your tone as you weakly start to stalk off to Bones' office. You pause and quickly turn about to an increasingly uncomfortable looking Williams.

"Williams, thanks man for everything but you should probably get going. You don't want to be involved in this anymore than you are already. Look me up sometime the next time you're in D.C. and we'll have a few drinks and catch-up." You hope that you don't come off as brushing him off but he really doesn't need to be dragged into this whole affair.

"Hey no problem Big Sarge, I see you're in good hands here but you owe me at least a case the next time I see you." He heads off whistling a dirty little ditty that any soldier learns early on in their life.

You limp into Bones' office and immediately collapse onto the couch as everyone gathers around. Angela (she seems pale as a ghost at how beat up you are), Hodgins (his eyes are locked on the Thompson that you're still gripping in your hand), Cam (she has a face of worry and happiness, even her eyes are red from crying), Max (his face is totally stoic but his eyes are burning with anger), Sweets (you swear that he's just an over-sized 14 year old), Wendell (must be his turn this week) and… where's Bones? Oh there she is sitting next to you, extremely close to you with a worried expression on her otherwise perfect face; slightly turned to you with her hand gently resting you your arm her eyes never leaving yours. Not that you mind the proximity or the- focus Seeley just focus.

"Please everyone just listen for a minute, don't ask any questions." And from there you proceed to tell them all about how you were taken, the fact that there were other people that needed to be rescued from that place, where you think it was, all the evidence that you picked up on the way (it was slightly disturbing how eager Hodgins looked when you told him that you filled your pockets up with dirt and rocks for him to examine), and how the people who took you have definitely infiltrated the FBI (Angela gasped when you showed Tim's ID and Bones' face froze in a death glare/snarl of doom staring at the little picture on the stamped plastic).

Neglecting of course how you were tortured in the whole process or the exact methodology you used when escaping. It's never comfortable talking how you kill especially to those who have been blessed to never have had to kill before.

"Max here take this," his eyes show grim ferocity as you hand him the Thompson "just keep Bones safe because she's the target of all of this." Message delivered.

You dimly register the gasps as you slump off the couch as sleep completely takes you over.

***************************************************************************************************************

*click* the shutter closes. The photographer notes with satisfaction that the license plate came out clearly even at this distance.

****************************************************************************************************************

The lens of the security camera in the lab floor caught the reunion. Only this security camera wasn't connected to the main office. A signal is beamed off into the silent void.


	7. We're Screaming Out

**AN: Once again I don't own Bones, someone else does. "Hero in the Hold" was an amazing episode in my opinion except for a couple of points to be addressed at the end. I'm glad that the season just seems to be getting better and better; is it possible that I can write in some spoilers? Possibly. Just remember I can't make changes to my story/writing if no one reviews *hint hint nudge nudge*; any suggestions or things that you want to see included are welcome. For those of you who miss my descriptions of blood, gore, and violence I hope that your bloodlust is assuaged at least for a little while by the following chapter. **

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What a fucking mess.

You and your squad are hurriedly humping it out of the area trying to get back to the FOB. Of course "hurry" is probably a stretch; slowly plod is probably a better description.

After all you will not leave anyone behind.

Your chest hurts as you draw in ragged breaths as you make your way up the piss-poor excuse of a road that passes as a motorway in the third-world. You were incredibly lucky. All you got was a flesh wound right under the collar bone; drink water and walk it off. That's the Army's cure for everything. Even for the walking wounded.

Stear up on point with the SAW; Awanbor taking up the rear with the 203, only two men who are truly combat effective, shit. Everyone's head is swiveling back and forth looking for the sign of any threat. Much good it did you guys last time.

You and Alsept are carrying a groaning Vandercook on the pole-less litter, he's got a sucking chest wound indicative of the sucking and gurgling coming out him. Maybe he can last until the FOB before you have to pop him. If you can't get help soon he will die and there is nothing that you'll be able to do about it even if you do pop him. Miller is behind you carrying Chung his lifeless corpse draped over Miller's shoulders. You managed to pry out the RPG leaving it back where Chung bought the farm; a sick memorial marker.

Volgelzon was a bit of a problem what with him being in so many different pieces. Swayne took care of it though in his typical brute and rather callous way. He stuffed the parts in an aviator's kit bag his lifeless eyes staring with macabre wonder out of the top with his boots framing his face. You all ditched your rucks except for the essentials, speed is more important than equipment right now especially since your SINGARS radios, carried as fate would have it, by Chung and Volgelzon, have been destroyed and your small short range pieces (walkie-talkies from RadioShack mailed to you by Rebecca as a sort of "Parker needs his father but I still don't want to marry you" gift) simply don't have the power to call for help in these mountains.

Why are you dragging back the remains of your broken and bloody men? Even the one who was pulped by bullets the size of a grown man's thumb crashing through his ribcage?

"I will never leave a fallen comrade."

You take as a point of duty and pride that you've always brought your men home; no matter their condition or the manner of their transport.

"Sarge we have to stop, Vandercook's definitely needs the needle right now." Alsept sounded worried. He's normally one of the calmest soldiers you know but at the moment… you wish you could just dismiss it as shakes from the adrenaline.

"Alright. Stear!" you shout out, "we have to pop Vandercook, grab some cover and watch the road. You too Awanbor." They both flop down off the side of the road; Miller and Swayne take up security to the sides both keeping their charges close to them as they drain their canteens and look around.

"Ok Alsept do your thing, save him." Wordlessly he goes to work.

Vandercook's face is swelling and purple, his throat bulging out on the left side; sure signs that the lung has collapsed. His internal organs are being pushed over to one side of his rib cavity by the overpressure on the right side and his trachea is getting pushed over in his throat. If you don't pop him soon his death will be excruciatingly slow and painful as his internal organs are literally crushed by his own breath or something can't take it and goes" boom" rupturing.

Alsept rolls out his CLS bag and roots about looking for his tools as you try to talk to Vandercook and re-assure him. If there's the slightest chance that talking to him will keep him from slipping into shock you'll do it.

Alsept pulls out a large gauge needle and cuts a piece of rubber from one of the gloves. He making an improvised catheter he threads the needle through the catheter.

You watch as he counts down to the third rib on Vandercook's right side.

The needle is positioned over the dip between the second and third rib at a 45 degree angle.

No hesitation now. The needle is jabbed into Vandercook's chest. You hear a distinct *pop* and a ragged groan escape Vandercook's mouth. His grey-blue eyes opening and then rolling up into his eye sockets as the pain knocks him out; a small mercy. You watch grimly as blood and pus starts to pulse out of the entry wound, at least until Alspet fixes the bandage over the wound after taping down the catheter so that there's a "drain" facing down his side. And by that you mean that the bandage is only taped down on three sides so blood and pus and whatever else can flow down his side and not just collect in his chest cavity.

Already his throat is less swollen and his face is less purple, he might live long enough to get to help.

Alsept takes out a fluids bag and sticks Vandercook in his arm. It's a difficult stick. He's lost so much blood and water already making his veins incredibly small. It takes him three tries before he gets it in and proper.

Maybe you won't have to add another number to the tally.

That tally you hate more than your other one.

Counting the number of men you've failed to bring home safe is worse than counting the number you've killed.

And they're both much too high.

While you contemplate this Alsept starts to pack up his bag. That's when you first hear the screams and the RAT-TAT-TAT-TA of the SAW.

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You gasp as you rush into consciousness. Your body tenses as the screams keep filling your ears; sweat drips down your face as you glance feverishly from side to side.

The first thing you notice is a pair of frightened and concerned blue eyes.

"Booth calm down, it's alright you're safe now in the hospital." She leans over to you placing her hand on your shoulder; a sudden feeling of calm crashes over you washing away the mounting fear that you feel from your dreams.

You glance about now taking in the room. It's what you'd expect of a hospital room. Cold and sterile. You notice a few lines coming out of your arm; some sort of medicine and possibly fluid to rehydrate you.

Wendel's sleeping in a chair by the door, you grimly notice a slight bulge in his coat right under his left shoulder. Who the hell gave him a gun? And why the hell is he asleep? He should be protecting Bones.

You smile slightly as you glance at her; your eyes lock as you both just look at each other for a few seconds of eternity.

"Hey Bones, you alright?"

"I'm fine Booth, I should be the one asking if you're feeling ok. You've obviously been hurt." No offense Bones but it doesn't look like you've slept in days judging by the circles under your bloodshot but otherwise beautiful eyes.

"Hey I've been through worse. I just wanted to make sure you're safe." Nothing but the truth there. You keep going.

"So ah, how bad is it? Will I make it out of here alive or do the docs give me two hours to live?" Damn that was the wrong thing to say, she visibly flinched when you joked about death.

"Booth no nothing like that you're going to be fine," she seems to be telling herself that as much as you "you broke your left ribs 3-5 and you suffered numerous other non-bone related injuries. Dr. Saroyan read over the chart first and she said that you suffered numerous contusions and punctures and were even," she visibly swallows in apprehension and concern "electrocuted by a stun gun of some sort. To say nothing of severe dehydration." She just looks at you her face desperately working to put on a stoic façade but her eyes betraying her concern for you. You can tell that talking about the stun gun reminds her of the Gravedigger and when she was buried alive. You're damn lucky to have a partner like her.

You just nod. Those injuries just about sum up the physical toll the last few days took on you; you thank God that no x-ray in the world will tell her the psychic and emotional pain you've suffered.

"So where is everyone?"

She seems grateful for the change in topic and truth be told so are you, you already got all the injuries once before and there isn't any reason to go through them all again in conversation.

" Cam, and Hodgins are back at the lab going over the particulates that they got off of you and your clothing. Angela is working on that ID that you took looking to see if she can figure out whom that really is," even her eyes harden as she mentions Tim; he died too easily for the pain that he's caused. She draws a deep breath before continuing "Sweets is using his contacts at the Bureau to try to figure out who is safe to trust, my dad is wandering around the hospital somewhere keeping a look out and Wendel," she points with a rueful smirk "is keeping guard here."

"The hell he's guarding you, he's passed out and snoring like a sawmill."

"Booth don't wake him he's completely exhausted from carrying you to Hodgin's work station so we could collect samples and then tossing you into the de-con shower so you could get somewhat hygienic. You really did smell bad when you came in." Her eyes shimmer in amusement at that last bit as she leans in a little closer to you trying to keep a _sotto_ whisper to not wake up her grad student/lackey.

You lean in a little closer to her also trying to keep a _sotto_ voice. You notice the close proximity the two of you currently find yourself in; a slight shiver goes up your spine.

"Alright Bones, I guess I'll cut him a little slack. I'm not a small guy so I guess he's earned a nap." You give her a patented "Seeley Booth Charm Smile" and just look into her deep blue eyes a wave of happiness in your chest as you see her respond with a smile of her own.

"No crap 'Big Sarge,' hey Booth you feeling better?"

You and Bones spring apart as if burned by something hot. You turn to see a sleepy looking Wendell staring at you two like he just accidently interrupted something

"Yeah give me another few hours and some pudding cups and I'll be right as rain." Hey bravado and optimism beat telling the truth on how you just want to curl up and black out the world.

"Wendell watch Booth for a minute will you? I need to go find my dad and let him know that Booth's awake." Bones sounds a little off but it's nice to see a little color in her otherwise pale alabaster cheeks.

"Sure thing Dr. Brennan."

"No not a sure thing, Bones don't go wandering about by yourself it's not safe. Wendell go with her and make sure she stays safe." No way you're going to let her get hurt, even in a hospital.

"Booth I'll be fine." Some of her familiar fire flickers as she turns and glares at you.

"No Bones, the people who got me only did so to go after you. You're the target here so logically you're not safe and since Wendell has a gun," (He squeaks a bit saying "How the hell did you know that?") it's only logical that he goes with you to keep you safe." Good job Seeley work the logic angle, Bones responds to logic.

In response to your brief foray of logic all she does is open up her coat (down Seeley down boy!) and pulls out the Para Browning that you had hid in the waist of your pants and grins at you.

"Booth I'll be fine, besides if I can get your gun off of you I should be able to use it." With that she walks out the door.

A bit baffled you turn to Wendell who's just looking at you sort of uncomfortably.

"How the hell did she get that pistol from me?" Oh God did he just turn red? He squirms in his seat first looking distinctly embarrassed but with a conspiratorial leer on his face.

"Well it was when you were passed out on the examining table we were taking samples of the soil and rocks from you and," the knowing look on his face is considerable more pronounced "well we all noticed that there was a large bulge down your front." Oh God now you're blushing red dumbfounded at the situation. You rack your memory for when your dreams were at any time arousing.

"Well me and Dr. Hodgins were kind of looking 'over' it trying not to cough or laugh but Angela just said: 'Oh cut it out guys he's not pitching a tent, that's a gun.'" Ok Angela, just how the hell would you know if I was or not.

"Well anyways Dr. Brennan," he just looks at you and grins "says 'Well we need to get it out of there' and she well stuck her hand," you cannot believe that you weren't awake for this "down there and pulled it out." Kid's laughing. Oh you are never going to live this down.

"Oh but the best part comes later," Oh sweet Jesus you're already mortified how can this get any better? "Angela asked what you were packing and Dr. Brennan said 'A 9mm, normally Booth has something bigger.'" There is no possible way for this to get any worse.

"Dude it was hilarious Dr. Saroyan choked, Angela started to laugh out loud and Dr. Brennan's dad looked like someone hit him with a train."

"So that was it then?" you ask a bit more meekly then you intended.

"Oh no I told you the best part came later. Well after we took you out of the de-com shower to get some of the dirt off you we were wheeling you over to the van to take you to the hospital and well," ok now even he looks mortified at what happened that can't be good "your towel sort of got snagged on corner and…" oh no "well you sort of flashed the entire lab, at least there wasn't anyone there other than us right?" He looks positively mortified at the entire thing and faintly embarrassed but laughing, definitely laughing.

You just glare at him with as much dignity and feigned malice you can muster. He just keeps laughing like a loon.

"So is that why they call you 'Big Sarge?'"

"Shut up Wendell."

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It takes Wendell a good five minutes to stop laughing; he even falls out of his chair at one point. But repeated threats against him eventually make him stop. Either that or he just pities you. Damn it it's difficult to threaten to shoot someone when you don't have a gun.

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Bones walks back into the room followed closely by her dad who shuts the door and glances about like a scared cat. You notice that he still has his lab coat on and that his right leg is unusually stiff and lumpy for some reason. You notice the clunk as he sits down in a chair facing the door, his leg vaguely pointed towards the door; he must have the Thompson hidden there. He notices you staring at him and he smiles with that familiar "I may be a murderer and felon but I'm also extremely charming" twinkle.

"Next time Booth try and steal something less conspicuous for me to haul around. I've just had to explain to three separate nurses that I don't have a prosthetic leg and that I'm only an old man who's had a strenuous life."

"Sure thing Max, I'll remember that the next time I get kidnapped." You meant it as a joke because honestly Max is quite humorous as far as felons go.

"Booth don't you dare get kidnapped again." Bones glares at her dad for even mentioning the possibility and then at you for joking about it. Of course you forgive her for her temporary killjoy moment because she brought you pudding.

"Pudding! Thanks Bones." These pudding cups almost make up for the fact that you're in the hospital.

Nothing prepares you for the crash of glass as something flies through the window.

You yell out "Get Down!" and throw yourself out of the bed grabbing Bones and throwing landing on top of her in case it's a grenade or bomb. Bones yells something at you but you cut her off with an inescapable tackle embrace. Slight twinges register in your arm as you realize that the needles were pulled out with your leap.

Wendell jumps out of his chair taking cover in the corner of the room accidently knocking over the medicine tree beside your bed sending IV bags of fluid across the floor.

And Max just yanks out the Thompson and looks out the window looking for where the projectile came from.

"Max get down!" You bellow and shut your eyes trying to put more of your body between Bones and any potential blast.

"Calm down will you Booth? It's just a brick." He keeps looking out the window before muttering a curse under his breath. Boy do you feel embarrassed right now.

"Whomever it was they got away, I couldn't see a thing." He looks disgusted with himself as he walks over and hits your call button.

"Booth you're squishing me." She mumbles this somewhere around your chest.

"Whoops sorry Bones." Actually not too sorry, the feel of her in your arms is far more pleasurable then you're willing to admit. You scramble up to your feet feeling the twinge of your ribs and foot as you get up and help her up off the floor.

"Uh Booth," she looks slightly embarrassed uh-oh what happened "you might want to adjust your gown."

Wow it really is drafty here. You sit back down on the bed absently putting pressure on your arm to staunch the bleeding from pulling needles out of your arm. At least you're not bleeding too badly.

"Wendell go check to see if there's anything on the brick."

"Uhh, Dr. Brennan there seems to be something written on the brick but nothing else."

"Well what is it?" A message from a stalker is the best you can hope for right now.

"25 High street Carlstown, West Virginia it's an address." Something tells you that something bad happened there, you just know it. Bones picks up her phone to call it in.

*********************************************************************************************************

The first thing that they notice is the semi-trailer parked outside the warehouse.

The perimeter secured the Tac-Team breaches the front door.

Silence.

The radio crackles to life.

*Command this is Tac-Team 1 we've breached the perimeter moving down the main hallway.*

*Three rooms, all empty and cleared.*

*Door ahead.*

*Breaching.*

*Oh my God.*

*Oh God oh God oh God oh God.*

*Tac-Team report.*

*It-It…*

*What is it Tac-Team?*

*…*

*Tac-Team report!*

*…*

*Tac-Team what is happening? What do you see?*

*…sir please don't ask me to describe to you what I see, my eyes are polluted enough and I don't want my tongue to be likewise.*

*Is the room secure?*

*Yes but-… I now know what evil is.*

************************************************************************************

**Enjoy? Remember to review. I'll have more time to write soon so maybe I'll be able to write more about Booth's past before Fox makes his past canon. I already know that they're all jacked up when it comes to his military past because the timeline just doesn't make sense for him based of his position in the FBI. I hold the strong belief that the uniform that he wore in PITH was fake because the chronology doesn't make sense for him to be a Master Sergeant and a Special Agent. Also he has the Pathfinder award on his office wall but doesn't show it on his "uniform" and also his "uniform" doesn't show any Jump wings which are kind of important for Pathfinders whose job is to set up drop zones for paratroopers. And unless Cpl. Parker was deliberately being annoying then there was no way in hell he'd call a MSG "Sir." Also he should have been wearing a tan beret in his Army Greens. Other than the confusing travesty that Fox has been inflicting on Booth's military past I thought that HITH was a good episode. **


	8. A Few Young Men

**AN: First off I'm sorry that this is such a short chapter but I feel that this is one of those things that needs to stand alone. Don't worry the rest of the story will be coming out in short order. And yet again I don't own Bones but I do own the text. The squeamish reader might want to skip this chapter.**

The first thing that you notice is that Bones seems extremely distressed as she stalks through the door.

Ok that was a lie; the first thing you noticed was her rather shapely and well-structured body but… yeah the distress is a close second.

"Hey Bones what happened? What was at the crime scene?" She'd left about an hour after she called in the tip to the FBI; a quick glance at the clock tells you that was almost 6 hours ago. It troubles you to work with the FBI since you have no idea how far the rot has spread but there really isn't much choice. You have to risk being betrayed in order to utilize the best investigative organization in the world.

Her wordless look at you chills your blood; her face is utterly stoic, her jaw set as if carved from granite. Only her eyes betray any semblance of emotion; an emotion that you'd never thought to see and hoped that you'd never see on her.

Terror. Despair.

She just hands you the file that she'd been holding and locks up; no emotion, completely compartmentalized and reserved. With an uneasy feeling you open the file and begin reading.

The file was uncharacteristically Spartan and terse even for Bones, her writing only truly blossomed when writing her novels but she's usually very blunt and scientific when summing up crime scenes. It was the pictures that made up the bulk of the file. The pictures filled in all the blanks that the terse summary could not.

The first thing you noticed was when you glanced at the first picture was the sudden lurch of your stomach as your pudding made a valiant attempt to extricate itself from the confines of your stomach.

It was an impaled body.

Not the kind of impaled body that you'd seen from your years working criminal cases where a sharp object was rammed through the torso from front to back oh no, that would be to banal. This was impalement from a time when it was considered to be a formal tool of execution and terror.

You remember from back when you were getting your degree of reading of Vlad III of Wallachia more commonly known as Vlad the Impaler or Dracula. His most famous act during his notorious reign was impaling 20,000 Turkish prisoners on pikes to terrify the Ottoman army as it invaded, it worked.

You notice that the pike that this corpse was impaled on was about 8 feet in length, with 2 feet poking out of the mouth, completely covered in blood. Unlike the more mundane killings you've seen this impalement involved the victim having the pike forced up the victim's ass while they were still alive. It was entirely possible for the victim to still be alive for the majority of the impalement especially if his killers were being careful so as to not impale the heart in the process or to cut any major arteries.

You glance at Bones' notes reading a rather cut and dry description of unimaginable pain and torture.

_The first victim that was found was an African-American male as evidence by the cheek and brow ridge, other bone indicators mark the victim's age as being between 20-25 years. The victim was dismembered and the amputation sites were sealed up with some sort of liquid adhesive, probably hot tar. Evidence of penetrating and cutting wounds to the bone as well as significant cauterization and burning. No skin was found on the body. Victim was castrated; testicles found in the maxillary orbits, no sign of the victim's eyes. Cause of death was being impaled on a 2.5 meter spike through the rectum; exit wound is through the mandible as evidence by damage to the mandible and maxilla. No teeth were found in the remains. Evidence of severe mutilation to the body pre- and post mortem. Numerous organs are missing from the body._

You look up from the page with a look of utter disgust and disbelief on your face. You notice that Bones is staring through you, not at you but through you, with a thousand-yard stare; a slight twitch in her jaw.

You look through dozens of more pictures of the first body; cataloguing every detail and angle possible of a terrible and violent death. Your stomach lurches as once again you feel the bile rise up.

"The first set of remains was the easiest to deal with."

You glance up in surprise as Bones says, almost whispers, that warning. The look in her eyes says everything that the wavering tone in her voice hints at.

With an apprehensive nod you bring your attention back down to the file. After a minute of reading and looking at the pictures the meaning actually settles into your brain.

You notice her notes are almost scrawled across the page; you'd take into account the significance of that if you weren't too busy heaving your guts out into the wastebasket beside your bed.

_Pelvic girdle indicates that the second set of remains belongs to a female of unknown race but bone indicators mark age as being between 18-23 years old. The body was found crucified on an inverted cross with hands and feet removed from the body with the amputation sites sealed up in the same manner as the male victim's. The female's feet and hands were found bound to four poles over a bloody mattress on the floor indicating a violent rape. As with the male victim the body was skinned and mutilated. The breasts were cut off and the victim was eviscerated. The head was removed and found smashed by a sledgehammer about 2 meters from the body. Almost the entire remaining flesh shows indicators of burns and cauterized tissue and all visible bone indicates blunt force trauma and cut marks. Victim was pregnant with twins. Cause of death was decapitation after a period of crucifixion due to blood indicators._

The only thing that pierces the cloud of your mind is the blood, all the blood that you saw in those pictures. The floor surrounding the body was positively soaked in blood, a pool extending over a foot in each direction from the body. You briefly wonder how Bones and the forensics team could determine that the woman was pregnant with twins until you keep reading and looking at the next stack of pictures.

Your heart turns cold at the sight of a bubbling cauldron set in a small fire pit in the floor.

_Two sets of female fetal remains were found submerged in a cauldron approximately 7 months old. Indicators on the bone suggest blunt force trauma followed by complete dismemberment. All the flesh was boiled off the bones but there were only trace amounts of fetal flesh and organs found in the cauldron._

You numbly work your way through the rest of the photos showing the horror that took place in that room; your blood drains as you come to the last pile showing exactly where the missing teeth, organs, and skin went.

It was a message.

"Back off."

But that's not what caused your blood to drain. What caused that was Bones' address written out in blood, bone, and flesh underneath it.

"She was still alive when they cut her open."

You just stared at Bones as her stone-faced countenance started to crack.

"She was alive, they crucified her then cut her open and made her watch as they-they…" She chokes up as the horror begins to break down her defenses.

"He was the last to die; the amount of wet blood still on the pike tells us that. He had to watch helpless as they did that to his family." She's visibly shuddering now but then again so are you. How else can a person cope with this sort of thing?

"I'm scared Booth." The terror is practically coming off of her in waves.

"So am I Bones." That's nothing but the truth.

So what are you going to do now?  
*******************************************************************************************************************

AN: Review please


	9. In a Russian Truck

**AN: First off I still don't own Bones; if I did I wouldn't be wincing at the price of flowers on Valentine's Day ($7 for a rose?!). Secondly I hope that you enjoyed (if that's the word) the previous chapter of macabre imagery. I must admit I toned it down after editing; after all this isn't a horror piece. Although I might just write one later on down the line. Thanks again for the reviews and enjoy the next chapter.**

So what are you going to do?

Well after reviewing that file throwing up ranks high on the list but given that you went and did that (ewww pudding looks really nasty all dissolved like that) a few minutes of sphincter clenching paralysis induced by an overwhelming sense of fear seems in order.

Without preamble Bones jumps off of the chair that she'd been sitting in and hugs you with a sense of desperation and uncertainty that is totally foreign to her. You restrain a wince as her strength, belied by her slight build, puts an extraordinary amount of force on your tender ribs. Of course even if she broke your ribs it wouldn't have stopped you from returning the hug with a sense of desperation to equal hers, if only to comfort her; you brush aside the desires in the back of your head.

The clock set high on the far wall ticks are deafening but far away in the cacophonous silence of you and Bones' embrace both of you pulling the other close enough to feel the reverberations of your respective hearts. And the tremors of terror still emanating from your minds.

You break the silence first but not the embrace.

"Bones I swear this to you, nothing is going to happen to you. We're going to figure out who did this and make sure that they can never do this sort of thing again."

Your fingers move in slow circles over the tense muscles in her back trying to comfort her and calm her down. You're not the most tactile person in the world but with her you'd gladly make an exception. As you draw in deep almost ragged breaths still rank with the fear that those bodies inspired you draw in her scent. A familiar and calming aroma of what you can only describe as distilled femininity and divinity; but now it's spiked with the bitter and harsh tang of fear.

Suddenly it hits you.

This is what they've been trying to do; whoever "they" actually are.

All the bullshit that Tim, John Dough, whoever that son of a diseased whore actually was fed you about diverting her from certain cases was both true and false. True these people wanted her to not look at certain cases but why stop there? Why not get her off the job permanently? Her work has landed hundreds of stone-cold killers, professional criminals and even mob bosses in jail. If Bones suddenly left the forensics world…

Trying to kill her had failed in the past Keton couldn't do it, hell even Kirby couldn't do it so they tried psychology. They tried to break and blackmail her with kidnapping you but that failed when you escaped plus you don't think that you're important enough to get her to stop.

But fear and terror; they tend to work when everything else fails.

Fear causes people to become irrationally paranoid, to focus on everything else but how to fight the cause of fear. A frightened person being mugged in an alleyway is more focused on the gun or knife in the hands of their assailant rather than trying to find a way to defend themselves. When a person panics they are worse than completely helpless; if a soldier panics in combat he becomes a net drag on his unit because those who haven't panicked have to try and save him rather than engage the threat. Causing Dr. Brennan to be afraid of the nebulous "they" means that she and the squints will be severely handicapped in any efforts to find them because fear causes the afflicted to doubt everything that they do; they give the assailant more power than they actually have.

Yet even with such deleterious effects fear is second fiddle to terror. Terror spawns despondency, despair, paralysis, and even submission to the threat. Fear is something that a person can fight given time and support but terror, terror is something else entirely.

To combat terror you have to destroy yourself. You know because you've had to do it in the past.

An act of terror is something that is so out of your realm of experience that such an act is so alien, so different that you simply don't know how to respond. To keep such things from happening you need to jade yourself to those acts or to otherwise numb your senses. You saw this happen to soldiers time and again. Some dealt with the horrific tactics that the enemy used by being even more brutal in a cold and calculating way; others drowned themselves in drugs, liquor, or even in terrible bouts of rage. Any way you look at it the humanity that you once had is lost after experiencing terror.

In short these people want to nullify Brennan, to cause her to either fold under the pressure or to force her to sacrifice her own humanity to keep in the game. Either way it gets her out of the world of forensics; her greatest skill is her passion to do what is right and to help justice, giving up her humanity means giving that up too.

Only these fuckers forgot one thing. You and Bones are partners. And you've already faced down fear and terror. You know what you have to do; what you have to become, in order to protect Bones from these people.

"_Hello darkness, my old friend, I've come to talk with you again."_ You whisper to the nothingness.

"What was that Booth?" Huh whoops you did not mean for her to hear that.

"Nothing Bones, just… thinking about what needs to be done." Technically you didn't lie to her.

You rather regrettably let go of her, but you move over on your hospital bed giving her enough room to lie down on the edge next to you. You give a silent "hooray" in your mind as she does. Your arm still around her as your hand still draws soft circles on her back trying to comfort her.

The clock ticks, showing the time as 3:42AM.

****************************************************************************************************************

RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TA

"Fuck we got a whole shit-load of trouble coming down the road at us!"

WHOOMP- BOOM!

"Ah shit! They're coming at our six!"

You curse yourself for making a bad call. Taking the road might have been easier for you to move towards the FOB but at the same time it made it easier for bad company to find you.

"Push the fuckers back! Smoke out!"

You pop red smoke at your position. A "Holy God somebody please save my ass" signal. Hopefully a friendly unit spots it and sends help; either that or more hostiles spot the smoke and come over to help wipe you out.

Not like you have much choice given how you fucked up and got your squad in trouble.

Your men move automatically to respond to the threat. The "Pop-Pop-Pop" of M-16s and the "Crack-Crack-Crack" of the M4s stand out in stark contrast to the bark of the AKs and the noises of the myriad of other weapons being brought down on your position.

You squeeze off rounds at the enemy rushing your front. You barely register one of them clutching his face; scratching at his skin as he falls forwards as one of your rounds catches him below the eye. A pink mist surrounds him like a deathly halo as his red blood mixes with the dirt and dust.

Your bolt locks back. A single touch of your finger drops your magazine and you slap another in. Smack the release let the bolt go, keep popping.

You hear an explosion to your rear.

In movies grenades are too quiet and the explosion that they make too small.

Awanbor and Swayne's skins blossom in red as a small metal object smaller than an apple detonates in between them. The ground shakes and blossoms of dust burst out all over the landscape as super hot pieces of shrapnel make contact. Their screams are cut short by the crimson tide bubbling forth from their throats.

Fear hits you followed by despair. You failed your men. You got them killed.

Two more on your tally. Make that three.

The SAW just went silent as Stear caught a burst to his back. At such a close range his Sappy plates couldn't keep the rounds out.

You keep popping at the onrushing enemy. Un-aimed shots. Panic is starting to overwhelm you.

Your bolt locks back. Empty.

You fumble trying to reload your last magazine.

The last thing you see is a masked face yelling at you. Suddenly a butt-stock comes down on your face cutting the screamed profanities short.

***************************************************************************************************************

Where are you?

This is unfamiliar. Why do you hear those noises?

You glance to the presence next to you and see a bloody corpse in torn and ragged ACUs, the stench overwhelms you. Those noises…

You scramble pushing away from the body and falling to the floor yelling incoherently. Floor? There aren't floors in Afghanistan only dirt, rocks, shit, and bodies. The noise gets louder.

You feel sweat roll down your back as the corpse gets up and reaches for you; no longer clad in ACU's but headless, skinless, mutilated and… the mouth moves but all you hear is the sickening thwack of bullets hitting home and the hiss of arterial spray punctuating the noise.

The noise. You have to get away you have to get away from it.

You turn to run only to bump face to face with-

*WHACK* The noise suddenly stops.

You stumble back clutching your jaw as a shot of pain hits your senses.

"Booth what the hell is wrong with you! And what the devil did you do to my daughter!"

Blink.

Max is doing a hell of an impression of a righteous and pissed off God at the moment.

Wait, Max? Who is Max? How do you know his name?

Reality comes rushing back to you.

"I…" Well what do you say Seeley? 'Sorry but I just had a psychotic episode where I thought I was back in Afghanistan?'

"Booth?"

You whirl around to the source of the sound and the blood drains from your sweat drenched face. Bones looks like she's seen a ghost.

"Bones are you ok?"

"Me what about you? You woke up screaming pushed me and went over the side of the bed. You looked ready to run out the door until my dad hit you."

Ok situation is slightly confusing but obviously you messed up somehow.

"I- I thought you were… I was back in… and- I swear I didn't know what was what." You stammer that out as your senses fight in your mind trying to figure out what just happened.

Suddenly a very angry Max is up in your face grabbing your thin hospital gown and pointing a finger in your face. Involuntarily your body shudders. For such a small guy he can be extraordinarily intimidating.

"You hit my daughter?! You hit my Tempe?! What the hell is wrong with you?!"

Before anything can happen Bones places herself between you and Max.

"Dad, Booth just- it's alright he didn't mean it. He just panicked it's nothing. I'm alright."

All three of you just stand there; the tension in the air is thick enough to cut.

You notice the clock reads 7:23 AM.

You slide down the wall to a sitting position; your shoulders slumping as the realization hits you.

The realization that you're losing control over yourself.

Well more your thoughts and memories. You hate to admit it even to yourself because even that is too much.

But God damn it you kept your past locked up for a reason and… and… those noises…

That noise brought them all to surface again.

You fight back the urge to break down right there and weep.

"Booth what's wrong? Tell me what's wrong."

Bones' kneeling down next to you the concern and trepidation unabashedly showing from her aquiline features. You want to tell her what's happening but it will only hurt her. She's going through something much more serious at the moment and damn it you're supposed to be her rock. You can't show weakness now or else you won't be able to help protect her now when she needs it most.

"It- It's nothing Bones. Just bad dreams from the pictures that's all." Hmmmm she seems to be getting angry…

"'Nothing?!' Booth you- it was as if you didn't recognize me at all. Tell me what's going on? What's wrong?"

"Yeah Booth what made you go all wacko? What possessed you to cause you to HIT MY DAUGHTER?!" Pissed off Max Kennan= bad news.

"Look just- it- just some really bad dreams and… I let them get to me. I thought- I thought that they had gotten you Bones and…" Your mind runs astray as visions of if they had gotten to her rush in and kick out your "Let's not get a beat-down" impulse. With a deliberate force of will, you keep yourself from seeing those images.

"Who? Who got to her? What's going on here?" Ok Max is out of the loop; at least he's not acting as the Sword of Damocles over your head.

You simply point to the discarded folder by your bed; the effort to verbalize what you saw being simply too much.

Bones just looks at you with a mix of emotions in her eyes that you simply can't place before she gently hugs you.

"It's ok Booth." She whispers into your ear, her breath hot on your skin.

As she helps you to your feet Max is busy flipping through the folder an unreadable expression on his face.

Finally he breaks the silence as he looks up to you putting down the folder on the hospital bed.

"Booth keep an eye on my daughter will you, I have to go make some calls. Uhh Tempe will you let the Jeffersonian know that I'm not going to be able to show up to work for a while? Thanks." Without a shift to his expression he walks out of the door; the air shimmers around him with a sense of anger ready to conflagrate the walls around him.

You and Bones just stand there, very close to each other. She's still "supporting" you but since you're standing up on your own power now… neither of you make any move to break the moment.

The clock ticks.

"Booth what is my father going to do?" If you had to guess it would be that he's going out to stock up on Columbus coins but saying that wouldn't do Bones any good.

"The same thing that I'm going to do." Well not exactly you don't have a trademark signature; maybe you should look into getting one.

"What does that mean?" You can tell that she knows or has an idea but she doesn't want to verbalize it for fear of being right.

"We're both going to make some calls. And then we're both going to try and find the people responsible for this. I don't know what will be worse for them; if he finds them first or if I do."

She turns to look at you with a mixture of disbelief/horror/and concern on her well-structured features.

The clock ticks.

"Uhh Agent Booth?"

You both spring apart as if burned. You look towards the door to see a nurse.

"I'm here to take you to Patient Discharge." Wipe that smug snarky look off your face; Bones was just helping me up.

"Uh ok. Do you want to come with me Bones?" Oh great stop acting like a 16-year old Seeley; did your voice really just squeak a little there?

Slightly flustered she agrees as she picks up the folder.

You both walk out of the dark room and into the brightly lit corridor.

The clock reads 7:47AM

**************************************************************************************************************

*Ring* *Ring* *Rin-click*

*Yeah?*

*I got a favor to ask*

*Who is this?*

*Do you really have to ask?*

*Guess not; what needs doing?*

*Face-to-face meet for this.*

*Ok, 'Spin me a rhyme?'"

* 'So we can have a good time.'*

*click*

*************************************************************************************************************

*Ring-click*

*What is it?*

*It's not working fast enough.*

*What do you mean?*

*She's already petitioning for more resources to investigate.*

*So what do you want me to do? You know that what we did was a gamble.*

*We need to send another message.*

*Like what? We cut it too close last time. Our operatives were less than 5 blocks away when the FBI showed up.*

*Something loud. If you can we need to get the message directly to her.*

*Is secrecy an issue?*

*No we have to move fast before our employers get agitated. They're more concerned with the final outcome rather than secrecy now.*

*I think I have something but it'll cost.*

*Not an issue.*

*It'll be finished in the next day or so.*

*click*


	10. With a little M10

**AN: (Standard disclaimer on how I don't own Bones blah de blah blah blah) I'm taking bets on how long it'll be before we see Dr. Brennan and Agent Perotta get into some sort of altercation (*male cheers for a cat-fight complete with torn clothes*). *Ahem* Sorry, side bets on just how much Booth injures Sweets if/when he tries to call Dr. Brennan "Bones" in front of Booth. I apologize for the time between updates but c'set la vie! Enjoy.**

"Agent Booth this hearing is just to help us determine your ability to be further tasked with the relevant tasks and stresses of your assigned occupation and specialty within the FBI. Nothing more. I'm certain that upon proper review of the evidence at hand you'll be returned to your assigned position as Special Agent in Charge at the Major Crimes Unit."

Translation from legalese- Your goose is cooked and we're going to suspend you until future notice when things have blown over. Then we're going to officially terminate your employment with the Bureau.

You knew that something was wrong when as you were signing out of the hospital; thankfully after you managed to get your hands on some clothes that Bones picked up for you, something to be said of her knowing how to break into your apartment, with Bones two suits from Internal Affairs showed up, flashed their badges, and "politely requested" that you accompany them. You managed to keep Bones from flooring them with no small difficulty; their flat denial to her request, more like a demand, to accompany you probably put them in a more life-threatening situation than most combat soldiers ever experience. You muse for a moment how hot it is when Bones is threatening other people.

Now, sitting in a formal conference room deep in some sub-basement of the Hoover with no less than three high-rolling mucky-mucks staring at you from across the table; maybe you should have encouraged Bones to… how did she put it? "Re-arrange their cranial structures."

Likely it would have resulted in paperwork but you have to admit, Bones is extremely hot when she's all belligerent.

You wonder why she was so protective of you and insistent that she be with you but your thoughts are cut short by a rather sleazy authoritative voice from… ah hell Deputy Director Moultrie. Damn career insider if there ever was one; you don't even know what department he works in but he's definitely a back-room mover and shaker.

"Agent Booth it appears that you have suffered what can only be called a series of unfortunate events in the recent past. You must understand that you must undergo a thorough and lengthy evaluation by Bureau approved and certified experts before it can even be considered that you return to your former duties."

"I understand sir." You grind your teeth together at the sound of this pompous fool's sanctimonious and self-satisfying voice.

"In further your astounding breach of proper protocol as to informing the FBI to say nothing of your superiors of your return from your unfortunate circumstances reflects poorly upon your sense of discipline and duty to this Bureau. You should also note that this sort of behavior reflects poorly upon your former supervisor who, in the opinion of this board, has been too lax in enforcing proper decorum in your behavior in regards to your interactions with your superiors."

You just bite back a sarcastic, witty and wholly inappropriate remark to that. You don't want to tip your hand in stating that you think that there is a nest of rats in the FBI because you don't know just how far the rot spreads. And saying that you'd trust Bones and the Squint Squad over what you've seen of the FBI any day of the week and twice on Sundays would probably cause more problems for you than anything else.=. As for his shot against Cullen… that was low. You knew that Cullen had bent over backwards in his efforts to defend your sometimes unorthodox practices especially when it came to the Squints but the glee that this bastard took in tarring a retired Deputy Director just went to show you just how much political fighting that Cullen had to do. And just how many enemies that he had made in the process.

You look at the two other members of this board looking for any measure of support. Instead your heart falls as you realize just how messed up the situation is. Deputy Director Villars of Internal Affairs and Deputy Director Calloway of the Major Crimes Unit, your current boss, both stare at you with a benign sense of disdain. Like you're something that they're scrapping off the bottom of their shoe.

Maybe you should have actually listened to Cullen when he told you to pay attention to the inter-office politics.

Moultrie goes on for a while taking forever and using tons of words to express absolutely nothing. Intellectually you appreciate his command of rhetoric and speech but since you're not too disposed to be happy towards him at the moment you filter out his voice and paste a stone face on.

Wait what did he just say?

"Excuse me sir can you repeat what you just said?" You take some amount of pleasure in how his face shows surprise and anger that you weren't hanging onto every word that passed his pale thin lips.

"I said, Agent Booth, that due to current circumstances your report on the recent events will be set-aside to only be admitted and accepted upon formal assessment, verification, and accreditation of your current mental state by experts chosen by this board. Furthermore your position as liaison to the Jeffersonian Medico-Legal Lab and as Special Agent in Charge of the D.C. Major Crimes Unit is henceforth suspended pending further investigation due to your insubordinate and un-professional contact with said Medico-Legal lab prior to notifying your superiors at the FBI after your ordeal."

You vainly try to keep your blood from boiling; at least you successfully keep yourself from jumping across the table and throttling this bastard from severing your professional partnership with Bones and the Squints. Oh and losing your job also sucks. You briefly wonder if Caroline will lend you her car again.

"Sir, are you telling me that my report of being kidnapped and tortured by a group of professionals whose intent is to directly damage the FBI's ability to investigate and solve crimes is being covered-up?"

"Agent Booth this august body is not covering up anything. We are only of the opinion that your report is fantastic and implausible and cannot be accepted as anything other than verbal lashing out at phantoms after suffering a period of trauma and drug-induced delusions."

"Drug induced?!" What the hell is this bastard talking about? The whole trauma thing more or less hits it on the head; how else would you describe being tortured?

"According to the tox-screen which was administered after you were admitted to Washington General. The report clearly shows that you were under the influence of high concentrations of hallucinogenic compounds and other narcotics; what is most disturbing, are the indicators consistent with long-term recreational drug usage."

What. The. Fuck.

"Due to these disastrous and felonious implications as to your mental state when making your report you are hear-by suspended from all field and office duties without-pay upon further investigation to include but is not limited to psychiatric evaluation and extensive drug testing to determine if you have been a habitual user of recreational narcotics and hallucinogenic drugs. You will turn in your badge, ID, and personal side-arm."

You can't believe this. The whole idea of this is ridiculous. If it weren't for the distinct and unusual honor of being deliberately framed and disgraced you'd rather do without the attention. At least Kirby had the dignity to not go through the tedious process of trying to frame you for anything; he just fired you.

"Unfortunately sir my badge, ID, and FBI issued side-arm were all taken from me when I was kidnapped so it is impossible for me to turn them into you."

"You are being insubordinate in your refusal to comply with duly constituted authority Agent Booth."

"Insubordinate my ass! I can't give you what I no longer have! Here you want a badge, ID, and side-arm?! Here take these."

You toss out John Dough's (or is it Tim's) badge and ID. Time to tip your hand to these bureaucratic politicos. Maybe they're not all corrupt; maybe they're just damn fools.

"I took these off one of my torturers who admitted to me that he had successfully infiltrated the FBI. I'd suggest you run him through the system. Meanwhile I've had enough of this crap. Don't worry sir I can see my own way out."

You start out of the room only to turn about suddenly at the doorway.

"And as for my gun sir it was taken from me when I was kidnapped and therefore I will have to be disinclined to acquiesce to your request."

You stalk out with a schadenfreude feeling of satisfaction; at least you still have a side-arm. You're going to have to go home to pick up your other hardware in order to keep Bones safe. Thankfully you don't have to look at Director Moultrie's greasy smile anymore.

As for the look on their faces when you pointed the pistol at them; you wish that you had a camera for that event.

*************************************************************************************************************

You consider it no small achievement to not have been arrested as you left the Hoover. You noticed bleakly that Charlie had already had your personal effects from your office packed up for you before you even got up to your floor. His grim look told you everything you needed to know about the situation in the FBI.

A rueful but appreciative smile crawls over your face as you notice that all of your memorabilia was topped off with a set of car keys and a note from the depo guys. There's something to be said to get friendly with the loggis; for some reason you always got first dibs on any new toys that the department got and now the motor pool had "accidently" issued you a vehicle that was supposed to have decommissioned from government service. Looks like Behar is finally paying you back for helping him out of that sticky situation with Cullen from a few years back. It really wasn't his fault that he accidently rigged Cullen's car radio to emit a GPS signal which Narcotics thought was a location of a sting operation.

You load up your slightly beat up set of wheels with all the memorabilia from your office. Mementos from your past; painfully real reminders of glory, pain, pride, and despair.

Your eyes pause briefly on the insignia of the Screaming Eagle. In the back of your mind you hear the roar of the birds and feel the heat of a desert sun.

You slam the trunk shut and drive off to the Jeffersonian.

***************************************************************************************************************

The sun has barely risen over the horizon as you pass through the doors to the Medico-Legal Lab. A momentary feeling of peace washes over you as all the familiar sights, smells, and noises of this hallowed temple to Reason strike you as water strikes the parched throat of a man dying of thirst.

You nod to Hank as you walk towards the platform. Of course walk is a generous term given that you're still more than a bit sore all over and that you're hungry. Starving even. You mentally kick yourself for not stopping by the diner and getting some pie.

Suddenly all thoughts of food flee from you as your attention notices exactly what is on the platform.

Even with the fans turned on to maximum the appalling stench of death is overwhelming. It looks like Wendell and Cam are doing a preliminary examination of the… victims from the warehouse. Over to the side you notice a red faced Angela trying to placate an almost hysterical looking Hodgins. Bones is nowhere to be seen.

You approach the platform but refrain from stepping up onto it; your access card was taken from you when you were kidnapped and your kidnappers haven't been kind enough to return your possessions to you.

"I don't get it Angela. None of these particulates make any sense. There are so many anomalies here… it's like the bodies and the crime scene were deliberately sprayed, brushed, and painted with as many types of chemical, dust, rock dust, and organic material as possible. I don't think that I'm going to be able to identify which were deliberately placed and which were naturally there."

A sudden realization hits you as you speak up, startling everyone on the platform.

"Even worse than that, that number of variables will make any forensic evidence that we can bring extremely tenuous. Unless we can, beyond a reasonable doubt, isolate every single variable and catalogue it then we lose a lot of our legal cause for identifying and arresting suspects. And with all of the variables in play that you're talking about, the suspect pool is theoretically limitless."

"BOOTH!" Jesus Christ it's like they haven't seen you in years, didn't they see you just the other day when you came in all tired and filthy?

You brace yourself for another round of pleasantries. You normally love to smoke and joke with everyone but the sight of those bodies and the memory of the terror that showed in Bones' eyes has put you into a somewhat focused attitude.

"Hey everyone, yes I'm alive and about. Can't talk now, where's Bones?"

"In her office."

Without a segueing word you dash off to Bones' office, not that it's unusual for you to do that but today you get a nagging feeling that you should stay with the other squints.

You dismiss that thought with a simple "Bones needs me."

As you step over the threshold of her office you notice that the office is completely dark, funny you'd think that she'd be working. You've noticed that whenever that Bones got into a stressful situation she'd automatically revert into a workaholic mode to cope despite your best efforts to get her to do something else. The sight of some empty Thai food containers on the desk at least gives you the hope that she's eating and not wasting away.

You quietly walk forward around her couch and gaze upon an object of astounding beauty.

Alright maybe it's not objectively an object of astounding beauty. You stifle a chuckle of how Bones' drooling slightly with a gasp of anger at the deep dark sleep rings under her eyes and the sallow shade of her normally healthy, and incredibly striking cheeks.

But then again you've never been a total disciple of Objectivity; Bones is absolutely beautiful. Her tousled hair and delicate features give her a sense of angelic grace and beauty. Okay Seeley stop drooling over your partner; you put the line there to protect her and now she needs more protecting than ever.

Gently you kneel down next to her and lightly touch her cheek with the back of your hand. Your palms have too much blood on them and you could never sully such an angel with the stains on your soul. _Out dammned spot._ As Lady MacBeth said.

Okay Seeley, romanticize much?

You barely touch her but her eyes flutter forth from what was a deep sleep immediately fixing you with a sense of purpose and focus that could rend diamond asunder if it was what she wanted to do. Your brain stops at the sudden perception of near manic desire and attachment that her look gives you.

Must have been a figment of your imagination as she suddenly yawns and rolls over.

"Mmmmph Booth, fi' more minutes…"

You can't help but burst forth laughing; waves of fondness for her surge forth from your heart and being. However much you enjoy watching her sleep, to say nothing of the look that you thought she gave you when she woke up, you need to talk with her.

"Come on Bones wakey wakey."

She responds amicably with a muffled grunt and a tossed side cushion at your head. As fate would have it she managed to hit you with the little metal zipper along the side.

"Go away. You're always telling me to take care of myself but now you're here bothering me when I am trying to." She sounds almost petulant and accusing; an interesting blending with her husky sleepy voice. Damn sexy- okay Seeley enough of that thought.

"Bones I got fired, I thought you should be the first to know." You figure that bombshell will get her out of her sleepy state and into the world of the living for a little bit. You really hate doing this to her when she finally seems to be taking your advice and trying to take care of herself but…

Wow her almost yell of "What?!" nearly damaged your ears

Her eyes burn with concern and astonishment; why is it that you always notice her eyes? Her perfect fiery beau- concentrate Seeley.

"The big brass want to cover it up, plus they think that I've been under the influence of hallucinogenic drugs according to some tox-screen report that they have."

"That is utterly ridiculous. You are the most honest person I know and there simply aren't any other explanations for the injuries that you've suffered."

"You know that, I know that, but they don't seem to know that."

"Booth what are you going to do?"

"I dunno I'll figure something out. Until then I'm just going to stick close to you and keep you safe."

She glowers at you with eyes still tinged with sleep.

"Booth I can take care of myself, even from these people I can take care of myself."

"Bones these people know a lot about you already and there is no way that I'm letting them get a chance to hurt you. End of story; no arguing."

You glower right back at her. You know that she's the most important person in the world to you at the moment except for Parker and there is no way that you're going to let her talk you out of protecting her. And you also know that there's no way that you'd ever admit that fact this side of the rack.

"No arguing?! Booth you're hurt you need to heal up first before you need to come around protecting me. I'm perfectly safe here at the lab, there is no reason you have to be here."

"Damnit Bones listen to reason, these guys are coming after you and these guys mean business. There is no way in hell I'm going to let you end up one of their victims!"

"And how are you going to protect me? You got kidnapped by them and now you've lost all your contacts with the FBI! How are you supposed to be able to protect me?"

You're both practically yelling at each other. Damn woman has to be so stubborn. There is no trace of sleep left in her eyes, instead you just see a sea of fire and barely squelched determination.

"By throwing my body in front of a bullet if I have to! I've done it once before for you and I can do it again!"

"I would have happily taken that bullet Booth! You do not need to be going around putting yourself in danger for me!"

"Bones you're my partner, I protect you. End of story!"

For tense seconds you stare into her eyes, and she into yours. It is the collision of a brown irresistible force and a blue immovable object. You can actually hear electricity sparkle between the two of you.

All you seem to notice is her features radiating anger and the feeling of suppressed rage. You remember that this was the almost exact same vibe you got from her right before she clocked you at your faked funeral. What did Sweets call it? Passion.

Yeah you might have had some of the best training in the world in resisting intimidation and torture but the glare that Bones' giving you right now causes you to flinch away. The only other option that you have is to grab her and kiss her breath away. Of course in the state that she's in she'd certainly kill you. Oh but it's such a tempting fate…

Without warning she huffs and storms out of her office heading towards the platform. You realize that Wendell or Cam must have yelled for her; your senses are still overwhelmed by the passion still radiating from Bones' slim frame. Such a slim and well-structured… stop Seeley, not now.

Moments behind her you follow her out of the office and towards the platform.

Wait who's that up on the platform with the Squints?

A person dressed in a lab coat carrying a cardboard box had made his way up to a side table on the platform. Normally you wouldn't take notice of such an occurrence but for some reason his face draws your attention. Something familiar about it.

It suddenly clicks.

You bellow out a warning and sprint towards the platform just before the man reaches into his box and pulls out a gleaming chrome revolver.

Everyone looks around in confusion. Then terror as they realize that a wolf has appeared in sheep's clothing.

3 meters from the platform "fence."

The man raises his pistol at the nearest person.

Angela.

1 meter.

A deafening roar fills the lab as the flash from the .44 magnum extends like an arm from the muzzle; the air of the entire room is buffeted by the explosion.

****************************************************************************************************************

**Don't hate, I did warn you of possible character death in the summary. But will anyone actually die? I might be persuaded by copious amounts of reviews; or not, one of the topic monikers for this is "Suspense" after all. Review bitte.**


	11. Putting blood into the huts

**AN: [Insert standard boilerplate of how I don't own Bones] And let the suspense play out; since today was declared a snow day I suddenly find myself with a lot of time on my hands to write. Enjoy!**

_A deafening roar fills the lab as the flash from the .44 magnum extends like an arm from the muzzle; the air of the entire room is buffeted by the explosion._

To describe the sight, the act, you are forced back into your training in philosophy; God how you hated philosophy when you took it.

Often it is simple enough for a man to act under pressure but the question of why comes down to whether or not he acted instinctively or out of deliberation; was it an involuntary or voluntary reaction to outside stimuli which caused him to do what he did?

You've forgotten how many times people have asked you why you do the things you did, why you do the things you do? Why do you fight? Why do you put yourself in danger? Why? Why? Why?

You've given many answers in the past, all of them ringing hollow in your lips even as you breathed them out to assuage the endless curiosity of the blessed ignorance demonstrated by those asking the inquiry.

"Because it's my job."

That one always rang hollow on you, your job only meant that you were put into potentially dangerous situations. Even when you were a dogface infantry soldier you never had to do nearly as many dangerous things as you did. The vast majority of soldiers never have to fire off a shot in anger and far fewer ever take a life with their shot. You've fired many shots. You've taken many lives.

"I had to act."

That one comes closer to the truth but it doesn't really answer anything either. It only restates that you had to do something not why you did it.

"It was my duty."

That one is even closer to the truth that you didn't want to acknowledge. But what is duty? Did duty demand the things of you that you gave up? Maybe it did but more often it didn't.

The only true answer that you can give is simply complex and ineffably tangible.

"Love."

_Greater love hath no man, than to lay down his life for his brother. John 15:13_ you know your Bible.

You know deep down that you did the things that you did and do the things that you do out of a deep feeling of love for your fellows. What is a greater act of love than to put your own mortal body between your family, your friends and the hollow and cold depredations of war? It is a simple act of love to take upon yourself, the pain and anguish meant for someone else. For too many this simple feeling of love is mistaken for other such words: honor, duty, patriotism, brotherhood. But only love can truly describe the act. How else can you describe the sheer sacredness of the Sacrifice and of its limitless mini-reenactments? When men say "Women and children first" it is not an act of bravado but an act of love for all men deep down know that they must protect women and children at any and all cost. Chauvinist many say, but true. It is through the clarity of love that any man will sacrifice himself for even a sliver of a chance to hope that his beloved will survive and be better for his gift of love. You briefly think that Bones would classify this behavior as a biological and social imperative imprinted on men from cultural socialization but you know deep down that it is love that causes such sacrifice. You know that simply being male does not make you a man; only a man can love enough to pay the ultimate cost. For all the bitter protestations and words to the contrary it is in that final act of voluntary love that even unrequited love or love rent asunder is united in a brief and unbreakable bond which makes itself whole and manifest. It is deeply programmed in men to love women, not necessarily romantically but to love them nonetheless. It is with that love that he proves himself a man.

Love.

That is what you saw as you vaulted over the side of the platform. Too late to save your friend.

You saw Dr. Jack Hodgins throw his mortal body between the woman that he loved and the cold, hollow, and terrible specter of violence, terror, and war.

His eyes were fixed.

His eyes were purposeful.

His eyes showed fear.

His eyes showed peace.

You see the blood and bone and gore.

You see the bullet travel through Hodgins' body, but the path has been twisted away from Angela.

For one brief second you know that Hodgins' staring up at his love; alive and without physical injury.

You know that even as his blood is bubbling and his life is draining from him onto the sterile lab floor that he is smiling.

You briefly wonder what is going through the mind of the shooter as his thick heavy-set features turn towards you.

You still hear the filthy Slavic-undertoned curses which came from his mouth only a few days ago.

You don't even bother drawing your weapon; too close for bullets I'm switching to beating the ever-loving life out of this goddamnmotherfuckingpieceofdogshitpansyassedsonofawhoreunclefucker.

Your left fist connects with his stomach; hitting people in the face is for fucking amateurs. You hear a satisfying wheeze as the bastard drops his pistol. A flash of stabbing pain shoots up from your hand. You barely notice that as the pistol goes off as it hits the floor but you have no idea where the bullet hit. No time to worry about that now.

Your right hook catches him right under the jaw exposing his neck.

Your left hand roughly grabs him by the throat and you toss him to the floor, barely believing your strength. Dude looks like he's 200lbs.

A swift kick to the dangly bits elicits a scream which is only music to your ears. Oh what the hell give him another one. No time for Marquis of Queensbury rules.

You keep up a fullisade of sharp kicks up and down the bastard's body until flipping him onto his stomach and roughly securing his hands behind his body.

Suddenly when you look up you realize that you weren't even angry at this guy before. Now you are.

Even more you are furious.

You see Angela sobbing desperately trying to staunch a slowing flow of blood from a still body on the lab floor. Tears mix with blood. Unintelligible words punctuated with gasps and sobs.

You see Cam screaming for help her hands also vainly trying to hold back the river of blood and bile flowing forth from Wendell. When the pistol hit the floor and discharged you realize that it must have hit him. You hear the haunting and tell-tale bubbly wheezing coming from his blood drenched lips; only to hear it stop.

And then you see Athena Goddess of Wisdom and War.

She tosses you off of the shooter with barely a grunt of effort; testament to her strength fueled by unimaginable fury.

You briefly wonder he'll immolate under her vengeful gaze.

Your thoughts quickly turn to if she'll dismember him like the Furies of Greek Myth. You wonder this mainly because that is one loud snap that she managed to get from his shoulder. That and Bones doesn't look like she wants to leave it at that what with her sudden snap kick to the other shoulder dislocating it with a pop.

You quickly push Bones off of the man before she kills him; a far more difficult task than you realized as she is showing no intention to showing him any mercy, and yank him painfully up to his feet. At least she's not actively trying to dismember him by hand; only measuring him carefully for a coffin. Her eyes as sharp as diamonds.

You look around at the carnage.

This must end.

You see the pain that was inflicted by this excrement you're holding. You see the pain evident in the eyes of Bones, Cam, and Angela. Hodgins' eyes don't betray pain, only peace. Wendell shows astonishment and shock.

To what end are you willing to go to make sure that no more pain shows?

You make one last glance at Bones.

"Don't follow me. I will do what needs to be done. I don't want you to see what I'm about to do. Get help for Hodgins and Wendell."

You grab a set of surgical instruments and start off the platform half dragging half frog-marching a breathing piece of dead meat to a small side room without security cameras and a stout lockable door.

************************************************************************************************

"So how does it feel for a Zeke to give you a bath rather than you give him one huh?"

You splash the contents of a bottle of chemicals that you found in the room onto the various panoply of cuts and bruises exposed on his neck and face. You don't remember much about high school chemistry but you do know that rubbing alcohol hurts like holy hell on cuts.

You can't hear anything more than a muffled grunt of pain. At least you put the gag in properly this time, too tight and he can still emit surprisingly loud cries of pain.

"You and I both know that we don't have a lot of time here; pretty soon somebody is going to come in here and break up this party. And we both also know that that means that I'm just going to have to break you sooner than I would otherwise. So once again; where is your boss?"

Stone cold glare in response.

You feel your humanity drain away from you as you pick up the first tool. A cold metal scoop. A slightly larger than normal spoon for all intents and purposes.

"You and yours hurt someone special to me, and I'm not talking about the men you shot today. And see, I don't like it when this person hurts. Therefore I'm going to introduce you to some of the pain that she's had to experience until you tell me what I need to know."

You slowly press the edge of the scoop to the edge of his left eye. All you see is fear and terror and all he sees is… nothingness, and the edge of a metal object ready to remove his eyeball.

Suddenly a garbled string of words tries to break out from the gag.

"Finally, I knew that we could discuss this without resorting to something totally irreversible."

*************************************************************************************************

You walk out of the small room. Face set on the task ahead.

Bones is simply staring at you, jaw clenched.

Paramedics are wheeling out two gurneys; you can't discern the extent of the injuries that the wounded have sustained.

Wordlessly you stalk towards the door; no surprise that she falls lockstep beside you as you ignore the police line and get into your car. The door slams shut as Bones takes the seat next to you.

Seconds pass as you and her sit there staring at each other, seeing and not seeing.

Tension builds.

"I know where they are."

That was all you said.

She just nods.

You start the car and head towards your apartment. For what is to come you have to be ready.

**AN: Sorry if I haven't actually admitted if any characters are actually going to die yet, but I need some way to get you all to keep reading my work. The earliest I'll be able to update this is going to be about two weeks from now as I have jury duty and drill this week; plus Empire: Total War comes out in two days, yes I am a gaming nerd. Hope you enjoyed that and please review. **


	12. Well the pay is good

**AN: As I write this I should be trying to find a TV to watch "Bones" as it's on in about 3 minutes; that show which I don't own or else I'd use the money I'd have to hire someone to smack the whole raft of people who have been causing me headaches at the BN. I thank my few and faithful reviewers and all my numerous but silent readers for their patience with the time it took to get this chapter out and published. If I had my laptop with me this past weekend I could have written a book what with the time I spent sitting bored out of my mind in the woods but I guess you can just blame the S-4 for giving me a medium ruck so I didn't have enough room. Anyways, enjoy!**

You dimly remember a while back when Angela took a ride with you two in the truck and that one time in her lab. She mentioned of how you two were always talking; how you were never not talking. Funny but with everything that has happened in the past few days, in the past few hours, hell in the past few minutes silence is the only language that the two of you seem to share.

You're practically boiling at the seams; all the memories and feelings that you've hidden deep in your past and behind the barriers of your psyche now seem to be playing "Rock, Paper, Scissors" on whose going to be the first to sound off. You've always found it curious, but not necessarily surprising, that Bones has never pressed you about your past; she's always been cautious, even at times you feel as if she's uninterested in your past. It bothered you at first, especially when you tried to learn everything you could about her; now… it's just the status quo. It's just how things are, she's just not interested in knowing all those things you've experienced and done in your past which is just as well; you've woken up in a cold sweat more than once dreaming that she'd run off scared and horrified after learning about what you've done in your past.

You've always laughed on the inside when someone has tried to lecture you on blood borne pathogens, the silliness of it of how the diseases which can hide in blood are dangerous and contagious. What about the blood itself?

The hot, sticky, and coppery feel of blood. The bright red stream of life which flows in the rivers of veins under a man's skin. The true danger is when you spill that blood; you've shown yourself capable of denying God's gift to one of his creations. People call HIV contagious? What about the sick pleasure of spilling another human's life onto the ground? You never just kill once; you kill over and over and over again. You dream about it; the scene replaying itself in infinity in the dark recesses of your mind. You keep acting it out as you keep killing; the rush of the kill leads to more. You know as well as any other man the almost addictive rush of taking life, of taking lives; one by one or a handful at a time.

When you tell the story of your kills you spread that disease to the listener. The contagion of your blood sin is spread to those whose only fault is to be curious and to listen to you; you corrupt their innocence with your words.

You promised yourself when you finally got out of the hospital and saw your son for the first time that you'd never again let yourself corrupt the innocent with your shadows; you would hide your mark of Cain from the vision of all others lest you draw them into the dark path that you've trod in your life.

When you returned from active duty you tried nearly everything to control your darker urges, almost desires, to re-live the hunt, the kill. Gambling almost consumed you until you finally set your life straight. With nearly no exception your past, save for your public achievements in sports and school, was one long tale of hidden darkness and barely recognized pain, horror, and vice.

You furtively glance at your companion, at your partner. The dim glow of the street lights penetrates the slight tint in the glass outlining her graceful lines; hair haloed in a haze of luminescence, her eyes as cut sapphires set in alabaster and ivory. You know that it would pain you more than anything to see her look at you in horror, in pain, in fear. You've seen too many men and women who've come home and who've had their lives torn apart, their marriages, their families, everything just destroyed when they've tried to tell what they've seen, what they've done. Other than Parker, Bones is the only person you've ever known whom you could not bear to have driven off by your personal demons.

No, you can't tell her. She'll think you're weak, that you're flawed. She needs you to be strong now.

You spend the rest of the drive in silence, alternating between staring at the road in furtive worrying and sneaking glances at your objectively beautiful partner and worrying that you'll be unable to contain your memories, feelings, and desires having them burst forth in a frenzied confession to her.

You pull into the lot behind your apartment building; the air is palpable with all the unsaid words in your throat as you turn the engine off. You get out of the car, Bones mimicking your actions without comment. The chirp of the locks engaging sounds like a cannon blast in the stillness and silence of the night hours.

Without word or invitation Bones follows you up the stairs to the door of your apartment. You're confused for a second before realizing that you don't have your key on you; your kidnappers weren't kind enough to return it to you when you escaped. You glance down to the little corner by your door, the mess of loose concrete and plaster which collects in the nooks and crannies of older less well maintained buildings like this. You kneel down and pry away some of the detritus and finally come across a chunk of rock which to the trained eye is distinct from the surrounding material. You pull it out and take the key that it was concealing; carefully you replace the bits of rock and plaster to cover up your little cache.

You turn to unlock the door but suddenly you freeze in place.

Wordlessly you motion for Bones to be on her guard and to stay put; you'd taken to the habit of placing a little bit of hair over the seam of the door. When the door was opened then the hair would fall off; and you notice that the little piece of hair that you'd left on the door is no longer there.

You pull the pistol from where you'd placed it under your beltline, slowly the lock turns and tumbles as you rotate the key.

A flash of memory bursts through you and you feel like you're just about to go through the shoot house for the first time with live ammo.

You can feel the surprise emanating from Bones as you rush through the door quickly going to your right without even glancing at the room. Move forward avoiding obstacles, feet up off the floor, weapon at the low ready. Corner is cleared, make a left Seeley and keep moving up the wall scanning your sector for threats. You speedily and stealthily navigate the familiar corners and turns of your small apartment. All the little hidey holes like the coat closet being conveniently open with no one hiding in them. Your body is tensed like a spring ready to go; in seconds you've cleared every room except your bed room and its adjoining bathroom.

Breathlessly you throw open the door and rush in. You notice a flash of movement in your left peripheral eyesight. Without warning you feel the smack of a metal object crashing down on your hands, your pistol drops to the floor. You spin and grab your assailant's wrist jerking his arm forward to collide his frontal nasal suture with your own. Ha Bones would be so proud of you remembering that little tidbit of knowledge. Without pausing to register his pain distorted features you clamp your hand around his neck and slam him into the wall; squeezing with your left hand, pain shooting through you as you apply pressure.

"Booth!"

You glance to the side to see a wide-eyed Bones staring dumbfounded at you and your assailant. Wait.

You take a second glance at the man you're pinning to the wall.

"Oh sorry about that Max." You hurriedly let go and help him stand up as he catches his breath.

"Oh don't worry about that son you were just defending yourself. I thought you were one of the guys whom I was trying to give the slip to; normal people don't enter their homes with flung open doors and fast movements you know." Wheezing Max rights himself after bending down to pick up a sharpened piece of copper pipe; re-concealing it in his shirt sleeve he continues.

"I was trying to get some info on what's been going on; I'd made contact with one of the information brokers that I once knew and was trying to pump him for as much as I could. The thing is I think he sold me out because one minute he and I were about to order a round of drinks and the next I see two large ruffians coming from a back room straight towards us. I got out of there before anything happened and before I could get any info; I've been playing hide and seek with these guys for the last two hours. Oh sorry Booth but I let myself in, I hope you don't mind. That rock really doesn't fool anybody you know."

"Hey that rock has served me very well these past few years I'd have you know; the only people who've found it out are you and Bones. And both times you two have used it to break into my home."

He looks confused.

"Sweetie you broke into Booth's home before?"

She just looks exasperated and… is it pained from the memory?

"No dad, I just let myself in while Booth was taking a bath, I had to talk to him and it just couldn't wait because it was right after he had faked his own death without even telling me which showed that he was decidedly untrustworthy because he should have told me."

Max looks slightly stunned as she says this, you find yourself both speechless and embarrassed at how that whole debacle of you faking your death turned out.

"You walked in on Booth while he was taking a bath?"

"Yes I did."

Oh God you don't like how this conversation is going.

"You saw Booth naked?"

"Well he did stand up out of the tub after I stormed into the room."

Flop sweat and panic time Seeley. Max Keenan is finding out that you flashed his daughter and he's currently armed.

"Hey hey hey lets all just forget about that and focus on other things like how are we going to solve the current crisis that we're in? We can all return to this other conversation after we take down the people who just put a hit out on the lab."

"Wait a hit on the lab?"

You explain how one of the camp gaurds had infiltrated the Jeffersonian and had shot both Hodgins and Wendell. You also mention that they're both in the ICU; being careful to keep your own personal opinion of their chances to yourself, there's no need to get Bones worried too soon.

Max excuses himself to go to the bathroom; you dimly hear the door shut as you turn to Bones.

You can tell that she's deeply agitated at the whole situation. You can also tell that it just looks so right for her to be here in this room with you- stop Seeley these thoughts will only distract you.

"Booth why are we here?"

"I have some tools here that we're going to use to bring these bastards down."

You walk over to the closet in the back corner of your bedroom. You've never opened this closet for anyone else before. Too many old memories here. You stop before opening it realizing that Bones walked over to you; her body so close to yours.

Are you going to open it up and let her see in? Are you going to risk her asking questions and getting answers?

Are you going to risk her turning away after learning what you've done?

She places a warm hand on your shoulder.

Sometimes all you need is a touch.

You swallow down all your apprehensions and doubts about the past interfering with your hopes for the future. You have to protect her now and to do that you have to open up your past.

The door unlocks and with it the unbelievably heavy weight of history rolls out from behind it's stout oak frame.

**AN: Please review, I write faster with more reviews you know.**


	13. And the risk is high

**AN: I don't own "Bones" someone else does which helps explain why the latest episode was so hinky and wonky in my opinion. Thanks again to my few and faithful reviewers for your words of encouragement are a boon to my humble work. As a side note my orders finally came in; 18****th**** FA "The Steel Brigade," Airborne Artillery Hooah! Anyways enjoy.**

"_Booth why are we here?"_

"_I have some tools here that we're going to use to bring these bastards down."_

_You walk over to the closet in the back corner of your bedroom. You've never opened this closet for anyone else before. Too many old memories here. You stop before opening it realizing that Bones walked over to you; her body so close to yours._

_Are you going to open it up and let her see in? Are you going to risk her asking questions and getting answers?_

_Are you going to risk her turning away after learning what you've done?_

_She places a warm hand on your shoulder._

_Sometimes all you need is a touch._

_You swallow down all your apprehensions and doubts about the past interfering with your hopes for the future. You have to protect her now and to do that you have to open up your past._

_The door unlocks and with it the unbelievably heavy weight of history rolls out from behind its stout oak frame…_

Your breath always hitches a bit when you look upon this little treasure trove of your past; Bones was right in calling "tough guys" sentimental.

You notice that Bones' body language changed suddenly as the door opened. You can sense that the tension of curiosity which had permeated her core since the day that she met you; a curiosity which much to both your chagrin and relief that she never pursued, suddenly relaxed and found itself replaced by a mingling sense of awe, understanding, and even more curiosity. You know that at the core she's a rational empirical scientist whose seemingly sole purpose in this world is to drive you crazy and know everything about everything. But you wonder if even she can understand exactly what each of these things means.

Time stands still as you just watch her look over your most private collection of belongings, you feel a sense of… well you don't know exactly how to describe it but it feels right to show her these things.

Her face scrunches up in that cute manner she has when she's thinking/scrutinizing about something.

"Booth, this uniform is different from the one that you wore to your funeral."

She points out towards your old set of Army Greens, the gold thread along the forearms and the fruit salad on the chest still gleaming as bright the day you put it on.

"Yeah, it was deemed necessary because if I wore my real uniform then I probably would have been exposed. But then again if anyone was really paying attention than the one that I was wearing would have raised suspicion."

"Why is that?"

"I was wearing the rank of a Master Sergeant for one thing; and I'm not nearly so old and crusty looking to have that rank. Also I didn't even have a name plate on which is a big big red flag to anyone in the military."

"Well I must admit this uniform is much… shinier than the one that you wore… that day. But it doesn't have the same sort of ribbons, it has patches on the shoulders, and it isn't even the same color. I know that in societies, especially in warrior castes, achievements and other notable events are displayed in bright markings with color and shiny markings but I don't know what these ribbons and medals mean. Can you please tell me what they mean?"

The curiosity apparent on her countenance is almost painful in its childish wonder and aged inquiry. You admit that you feel incredible pride in your ribbons, medals, and unit patches and even a greater sense of well-being in her interest in learning what they meant and what they mean to you. And yet you're still more than slightly leery of opening up too much of your past to her inquisitive nature; once you start there isn't any way that you'll be able to stop her from getting you to reveal all the times of weakness you experienced, all the pain and agony that some of those ribbons and medals represent. Or in recounting in perfect detail the exact method and nature of all the kills you made, of all the men you had die with you, and of all the mistakes that you made.

You're torn and hesitant.

"Booth? Please?"

Her eyes look on you with concern and understanding, a sort of care that you haven't experienced since… since… you've quite honestly only experienced it when you've been around her, nowhere else.

You feel her hand rest lightly on your arm. The warmth heats up more than just your skin.

You gulp down your fears as her presence buoys your resolve but you can't quite escape them. Temporize Seeley and hedge your bets; you'll be able to tell her after you're certain that she's safe.

"I-I'll tell you. Not now but… after this all is over. I promise Bones."

A brief look of disappointment clouds her face and a sinking feeling starts to form in the pit of your stomach; that is until that look transforms into kind understanding and a form of triumph. You don't quite follow why she's showing that look.

"Alright, I'll hold you to that promise Booth."

You step into the closet pushing aside your uniform; uniforms actually because you have to plow through the whole mess of BDU, DCU (Pre and Post OEF), and finally ACU blouses and pants to say nothing of your other military clothing paraphernalia. You brush aside field jackets, polypro, and wet weather gear until you come to the locker in the back. You hesitate before it; too many of your bad dreams are tied to what's contained within. Suddenly your mind provides you with a vision of Bones in pain; the memory of the violation at the Lab. You grasp the handle and wrench the locker open letting out a semi-ragged breath as you gaze upon the tools of your trade.

"Hello beautiful, it's been a while." You express with unreserved reverence to your M24A2; how can you not be reverent in the presence of one of the best agents of death that was ever crafted?

"Uh Booth, I've been next to you for a while now." Uh-oh, you have a tendency to let your mouth talk ahead of your brain don't you Seeley.

"Oh uh sorry Bones I wasn't talking about- I mean not that you're not- uh what I mean to say is… just talking to her." You gesture to your rifle.

She blushes a little looking about as confused and uncomfortable with the conversation as you are.

"Why are you referring to that weapon as a female?"

"Oh it's a common thing in the military, to refer to weapons, planes, ships, and tanks, whatever as women. We even name them after women."

"Is it some sort of psychological need to be in close contact with a female especially when in the presence of phallic imagery? Or some sort of need to be in control over something female?"

"What is with it with the psychology Bones, I thought you hated psychology."

"I do hate psychology Booth but this sort of thing came up during my freshman psychology course that I had to take and I've never forgotten it."

"Bones I don't doubt that you've ever forgotten anything but no those reasons aren't why I call my rifle a she."

"Well why do you Booth?"

"Because 'She" is incredibly deadly, powerful, complicated, and misunderstood. 'She' requires someone who knows everything about 'her' to work at 'her' full potential; anything less than that total knowing means that 'she' won't work right and will be unhappy with the person who is supposed to be taking care of 'her.' I call my rifle a 'she' because I like to be able to be the only one who is able to take care of 'her' no matter what happens and 'she' in turn takes care of and completes me." Ok Seeley boy that was a bit much don't you think? If she's half as intuitive as you give her credit for she'll find all the not so subtle hints in that little diatribe. Smooth.

Well at least she's not looking at you in complete incomprehension and astonishment. That's a plus right? In fact she looks… contemplative. Is this a run for the hills moment?

"So… what's her name?"

"What?"

"I said, what's her name?"

Ummm… this would be a great time for some sort of intervention from a higher power. Well maybe you can temporize with this subject like you did with the ribbons on your uniform.

"I… uh… it's a name that I kinda adapted from a nickname I got during AIT. I'll tell you about it sometime."

"You didn't answer my question." Damnable smart and inquisitive woman! Can't she tell that you're trying to avoid answering the question?

"Hey you didn't ask anything about this." You hold up the fibrous mesh of netting of an unadorned ghilie suit.

"Oh is that a burlap sack? What is it?"

"It's a sniper's camouflage suit." Yes you distracted her!

"It doesn't look like you could hide from anything in that."

"Well that's because I haven't gussied it up to the place I'm trying to hide in. A sniper tailors his suit to wherever he's operating in, sometimes changing it day to day to keep up with changing weather and terrain patterns."

"Wow, what's in that smaller lock box?" She points to a matt black safe at the foot of the locker.

You open it up pulling out several boxes of ammo, some camo-sticks, and your own special little demon, an M7 Bayonet.

There is a big difference between sniping someone from 1000 meters away or even shooting them at 1 meter in a fire fight and stabbing them with your combat knife. When you shoot someone you can try and pretend to yourself that you never really killed them, you just took their life away. But with a knife it's never that simple. With a knife you can feel their heart stop and hear their last agony filled breath. You smell their dying.

By far the worst nightmares are tied to this little beauty, this beautiful little killer.

She gazes on with a contemplative wondering which is by far one of your favorite faces that she can have.

"So why are you showing me these things?"

"Because I know where that camp is now, that guy talked and told me. So now I'm going in to do what I do best so that you can stay safe."

She opens her mouth to argue but quickly shuts it; perhaps the look of total determination on your face has convinced her that nothing is going to deter you from this course. Of course you suddenly unsheathing the bayonet and turning to the back wall of the closet probably unnerved her to no end.

You brush aside the uniform obscuring the wooden wall, and the series of marks which are carved into the surface.

On the one, the longer chart, you carve six more marks into the tally. Onto the other, you carve four. You don't have a conclusive proof but you know that the victims in the warehouse were Williams and his family. You just know it deep in your gut; you got them killed just as easily as if you shot them yourself. You might even be adding another two to this tally; you still don't know what the ICU will say about Hodgins and Wendell.

You fight back tears with a cold blackness in your being as you carve those four marks into the wall; killing is one thing. Killing is a conscious act with a clear and defined cause and effect; but having someone that was your responsibility die? Or being ultimately responsible for their dying through your actions or inactions? When you told Bones about all the people that you killed and how you wanted to put at least that many murderers away you were only telling half the story. Even more you want to try and save lives to make up for all the ones that you let slip away before your eyes.

_Servare Vitas_- to save lives

The motto of the FBI's Hostage Rescue team, you briefly considered offering your services to them when you first signed on with the Bureau but the guilt of pulling the trigger, the guilt of letting all those men die, and the guilt of killing held you back.

Maybe you should reconsider when this is over. You know full well that you're going to Hell for all the things you've done in your life so might as well go out with a bang right?

You blink back unshed tears at the idea; no you could never do that, you would only be adding numbers to your kill tally if you put your skills to full use. As much as you want to save lives you hate having to take them.

So why are you so gung-ho about taking lives now?

You stand there, knife in hand, trembling as you can hear Bones' breathing behind you and your heart beating a million beats a minute.

Why are you so willing to kill now? Has the guilt left you?

You turn and sheathe your knife in its scabbard, grabbing a non-descript and sanitized set of BDUs, your rifle, various paraphernalia, and ghilie suit you walk out of the closet and shut the door behind you. Bones just stands there watching you her face unreadable but her eyes an open book of concern, fascination, curiosity, and horror. You pack up your gear into an A-bag and lay your rifle beside it and stand there for a moment; Parker's picture beside your bed catching your attention. He looks so happy and innocent. You can't help it as the small grin comes to your face.

You turn slightly as Max comes out of the bathroom you notice how he glances at you're A-bag then gazing over to the rifle, and how he notices the fascinated/horrified look on his daughter's face. What impresses you most is how he just nods and takes it all as a matter of fact.

"Hey Booth three questions."

"Sure thing Max what are they?"

"One does my Temperance know why you're so willing to do what we all know you're planning on doing?"

"It's so that she stays safe." You know that line sounds rehearsed, plus you spat it out just a little too quickly but it's essentially true; more a crime of omission rather than distraction.

You notice how Max only nods clearly sensing that you're not being totally candid with your answer.

"Uh-huh, second can I get a try with it?" You can actually see the boyish glee radiating from his very charming face; damn but his charm smile is nearly as good as yours.

You laugh out loud a bit as you answer.

"Sure thing Max but only after this little shindig is over. What's your third question?"

He just points to the butt stock of the rifle. Oh shit his eyesight is really good isn't it?

"Is that what I think it is?"

You grab up the rifle and position the butt stock in your armpit covering up your age-old inscription and start making your way to the door to get to the car.

"And on that note I think it's best if we went off and got this over with."

"No Booth what is it? What did my dad see?"

"Don't worry sweetheart Booth just answered my first question."

"How did he answer that, he just picked up his gun and said something that was not even related to the question that you asked?" Now isn't the time for a soul bearing session; besides the awkward questions and embarrassment will most likely make things much more complicated than they already are between you and her.

"Booth tell me what's going on."

"Not now Bones we have work to do."

"Come on Booth tell me."

"I'll let you drive if we drop this conversation right now."

"Don't think that you can bribe me into stopping my line of inquiry."

"I told you I'd tell you about it sometime."

"You mean the name of your rifle?"

"Yes."

"Well why didn't you say so Booth? I know that you keep your promises to me so I'll just wait until you're ready to tell me everything."

"Really?"

"Yes. But I'm driving since you tried to bribe me with that offer."

You hear Max chuckling behind the two of you as you two are too busy arguing with each other on your way to the car.

"Is it always like this between the two of you?"

"No."-"Yes."

"I thought so."

You finally make it into the car giving Bones a destination to drive to, a small town near where you were picked up. There's something to be said about having an incredible memory and attention to detail. It means no paper trail after you interrogate someone. You slowly drift into sleep as Bones grinds the clutch pulling out of the parking lot.

**AN: Hope you enjoyed that, please review. And Happy Drunken Fool's Day tomorrow!**


	14. But it's understood

**AN: Due to the fact that I was engaging in some late St. Patties day celebrating last Thursday I had the poor fortune to miss the latest Bones on TV. However I'm quite happy how it's up so fast online for repeated viewing while I'm supposed to be studying. I must admit I like this new intern even with his annoying tendency towards onomatopoeia; that and I almost feel as if the writers are trying to read and respond favorably to various "WTF Writers" criticisms put out here in fandom. I would if I were a writer. And what with my effusive glee over the latest Bones, which I might add I do not own let me be among the many to say that once again FOX has lied to us by postponing the next episode a week but I do digress. Therefore without further ado I present you my wonderful readers, and even more wonderful reviewers (hint hint nudge nudge) the latest installment of "Jungle Work."**

"10 MINUTES!"

The screams of the jumpmaster barely heard over the roar of the C-130's engines. You slowly shake yourself awake and try to get the blood flowing through your cramped limbs. Jumping in full combat gear means that men are squished together at the most awkward angles and into the smallest of spaces. Having at least 60lbs of gear strapped to your shins, weapon poorly attached to your leg, reserve chute taking up space on your gut, and a heavy parachute on your back makes you feel like a pregnant penguin with arthritis.

"10 MINUTES 10 MINUTES 10 MINUTES!" You and the rest of your stick repeat the cry down the length of the cargo bay, no telling who you're waking up just in time to jump.

"OUTBOARD PERSONNEL STAND UP!"

A loud scuffle and stumble occurs as everyone on sitting nearest to the fuselage stands up, or tries to. Having a dozen large burly men carrying half again their body weight in gear try to stand up in a place smaller than most public restrooms is less than an orderly affair. You'd say you're squeezed in like sardines but sardines are orderly and quiet.

"INBRED PERSONNEL STAND UP!"

That age old joke amongst the airborne; obligatory groans and giggles barely discernable in the din of the engines. Your turn to try and stand up; Whoops Seeley boy try not to face plant into your battle buddy's crotch.

"HOOK UP!"

You unhook your static line from the strap on your waist/reserve chute and hook it up to the metal cable running above your head. You try not to think about how if this baby doesn't hold then your chute won't deploy.

"CHECK STATIC LINE!"

As you echo the command down the line you trace the static line in your hand down and over your shoulder checking for kinks or bends in the line. If, God-forbid, for some reason you found your line was cut then you'd be in one hell of a pickle.

"CHECK EQUIPMENT!"  
You all sound off in tandem checking each piece of your equipment: "Helmet, chin-strap, chest strap, left and right leg strap, weapons bag!" If any of these pieces aren't in proper shape then complications could occur when you hit the ground after a 1,500 foot drop.

"SOUND OFF FOR EQUIPMENT CHECK!"

Up the line fully grown men slap each other on the ass screaming that they're ok into their buddy's ear. You sound off with a loud and thunderous "EIGHT OK" as you clap Wilson hard on his right cheek. Hey how else is he going to know that you're talking to him with engines roaring barely feet away from you? The cry travels up the line until the lead man screams "All OK Jumpmaster!"

Now you wait.

"FIVE MINUTES!"

Five minutes left in the cold metal hold of the plane. These minutes seem to stretch on into infinity as the sweat on your forehead beads and falls down your face. You blink away these salty droplets as you stare into the back of the Wilson's helmet; the cat-eyes glaring at you like two tiny beads of fire.

"ONE MINUTE!"

Whoah where did that time go?! Don't you think that those five minutes suddenly went by way too quickly? Are you going to miss the DZ? Are you going to the right place? Oh crap what if there's a problem and-  
"THIRTY SECONDS!"

The line move forwards as the first man positions himself in the door, ready to jump out into the void. _Hail Mary full of Grace the Lord is with thee…_ you hastily mumble off a prayer as you feel the weight of your equipment suddenly double on your shoulders. Maybe this is all a dream and you'll wake up safe at home? Not that home was safe mind you but still.

"GO GO GO!"

Shuffle up to the door, wow guys are heading out of the door fast aren't they? Before you know it you hand off your line mechanically to the red hued face of a jump master, the red-light giving his eyes a demonic glow.

"GO GO GO!"

Without thinking you position and swing your legs out, folding your body into an L-shape. You're eyes can't see anything cause of the night. Or is it because they're closed? Hey Seeley pay attention.  
One-thousand, two-thousand, three-thousand, four-thousand, five-  
*YANK* *JERK* "OOFH!"

At least your chute deployed.

Check canopy gain canopy control. Oh just your luck the suspension lines are almost completely tangled up; bike pedal Seeley and let the knots out or else your canopy is going to… Oh shit it just went and did.

Your fucking chute just went and collapsed.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-

At least your reserve works.

Now there's nothing to do but ride it in Seeley, no way to slow your descent or flare your canopy before you hit the ground.

Hey the ground is coming up fast isn't it?

Wait did you release your combat gear?

Nope still attached to your shins; this is going to hurt. Slamming a full pack and your shins into the ground at 25mph is less than a pleasant experience.

Wait where is your leg bag?

Where's your weapon?!

Oh shit. You look around desperately into the darkness, the ground rushing up to meet you at an astonishing pace.

FUCK where is she?!

Where the hell is-

"Temperance!"

You jerk awake in the back seat as you hear the blare of a car horn and the screech of brakes. You're slightly amused to see Bones and Max fighting over which exit to take on the highway.

"Darn it Temperance you missed the exit! Now we're going to have to go all the way down to Andersonville to get the connection!"

"Dad we need to take the exit to Harrington not Queenstown; the map clearly states that so we follow the map!"

"No Honey we had to take that exit because it connects west of the Evansburg-Hagerstown split so we can take the I-32 to get to this town that Booth told us to go."

"The map doesn't show that dad, it clearly shows that we get onto I-32 through Harrington just past Ashbee courthouse."

You just lie back there pondering the whole messed up situation as you let Bones and her dad argue over directions. Why are you so "ok" with simply going in and killing these guys? Why don't you place some calls with some of the guys you know back at the Bureau? Or hell, even the local cops? You know how to get them to show up; might fudge the truth just a little bit and call it a terrorist cell or something like that but you can get the big boys in to do all the dirty work for you right?

You mentally slap yourself for being so naïve. You already know that somebody somewhere managed to get you fired, they've obviously infiltrated the FBI to some extent, and they've had access to your medicals, and even managed to steal IDents for the Jeffersonian. Whoever these people are they have their web strung out over a lot of area covering a ton of angles. Any attempt to bring in the authorities in on this will just notify them and at a minimum alert them that something's up and at worst get you arrested with the bought off agents that they have.

Of course that nagging little suspicion in the back of your head keeps telling you that these guys probably aren't that all powerful; they probably have just shown their cards in all these different places just to keep you second guessing yourself and to keep you off balance. What if you're giving up the chance to call in the cavalry just because it seems as if the authorities are corrupt when they're not?

Can you gamble that these guys are ok or if they're bought off? Can you risk betrayal and failure if it means that you can get some allies to take these guys down? A single glance towards the driver of your vehicle tells you that you could never risk that. Besides you're reformed aren't you? You're not supposed to gamble.

Your rustling in the back seat must have been louder than you expected because suddenly Max and Bones are both trying to get your support in the argument over which direction to go. You find yourself pleasantly distracted by this back and forth; far better trying to tell two of the most hot headed and impressively dangerous people you've ever had the pleasure of meeting and knowing that they're both wrong and that you need to take the exit at Pendleton to get onto I-32 than letting your mind cogitate on the exact reasons why you're so willing to kill again.

************************************************************************************************

Yeah those last 45 minutes have definitely underscored exactly why you don't let Bones drive. After spending so much damn time in the third world looking at dried up skeletons or the gooey remains of massacre victims she's taken up the very bad driving habits of a third world driver. You don't scare easily but by the way your sphincter is still puckering up her sudden cut across four lanes of busy traffic to make it to the exit you'd say that she's definitely gotten the better of you yet again.

At least she knows better than your average third world driver, or for that matter New Jersey resident, that driving a car involves more than just leaning on the horn and putting the pedal to the metal. You're trying to simultaneously fill up the tank at the gas station pump and inspect the outside of the vehicle for some sort of voodoo ward that Bones set up when you weren't looking; there is no way in hell she missed getting T-boned by all those cars by just her natural talents and aggressiveness alone.

You glance over into the front of the vehicle. Max is still looking straight ahead out of the windshield, his eyes wide and his face frozen in a look of horror. You can't see it really well because of the glare from the overhead lights on the glass but you can tell that he's still hyperventilating in fright. Bones meanwhile is off buying some food from the station attendant; the look of triumph on her face as she sauntered off out of the car was priceless. Max will never again tell Bones: "You can't possibly make the exit now we're almost past it." You must admit you didn't expect that level of aggressiveness and competitiveness from Bones but despite the "OHMYGODWE'REALLGOINGTODIE!!!" factor you must say that it was extremely hot.

You're just finishing up putting the hose away when Bones comes back with a rather disgusted look on her face holding some small plastic bags full of what can only be junk food.

"Booth why is it that these places have absolutely nothing healthy or natural in them? I looked all over and couldn't find a single organic piece of food anywhere in the store and all of these foods have so many chemicals and preservatives that they can't possibly be healthy for you." The look of frustration on her face is rather endearing you must say but she's holding the food right now and you'll probably have to get her less annoyed at the world before she'll share.

"Come on Bones these places have to cater to a whole variety of people who are driving extremely long distances; there's no telling where they're going or how long it'll take them to get there. These guys are just trying to get food that'll last their clients long enough till they get to their destination. Now can you please hand me some food I'm starving."

"You're always starving Booth but I highly doubt that all this candy and cakes will do anything but give you a sugar rush."

"Oooo chocolate bars."

"Booth are you even listening to me or are you totally fixated on these sugar filled confections which are in no way proper sustenance." She's holding up a package of pudding cups up over her… ok Seeley let's not stare there shall we? As tempting as it is to stare, plus have a handy excuse for drool, it is not conducive to a working relationship.

"I'm listening to you Bones but will you please just hand me those puddings?"

"Fine, if I knew that you liked chocolate pudding so much then I'd have made you my special chocolate pudding long ago."

"You make pudding?"

"Yes."

"And you make Mac and Cheese?"

"You already know this Booth."

"Bones have I ever told you, you are the greatest?"

"No but what does me being able to cook have to do with that?"

"Ah nothing, let's just get back on the road, only another hour or two before we get to where we need to go."

You spend the next five minutes getting Max back out of his fear induced catatonia; Bones sure can be scary when she wants to and she doesn't even have to really be trying to scare you. You always say that she's bad at reading people but when she's trying to prove something she has an uncanny knack for driving home that one point that she knows that the other person is most vulnerable to.

Of course while you were doing this Bones got back behind the wheel. You think that was the prime factor into getting Max out of the front seat and into the back seat. At least back there you can close your eyes easier and-

"HOLY MOTHER OF GOD BONES!" You wonder for a second if you've finally found something more terrifying to you than those sounds…

"You know that you said that this vehicle takes 2 seconds to go from 0 to 60 but I think that I just beat that."

"What the hell has turned you into this speed demon?"

"I just want to see how your machine handles, after all since you're going to be driving it from now on and since I'm usually driving with you I have a vested interest in knowing that this machine works. I want to make sure that your machine handles properly under all sorts of conditions so that we'll both be satisfied with your performance."

"You know Bones you get a much better performance if you take things more gently and let things warm up a bit before you put into 3rd gear."

"Well I think that there are times that you have to be completely uninhibited in order to get the full experience."

You simply stare at her in a mix or awe/desire/confusion/terror/ and a whole myriad of other emotions.

Suddenly you begin to wonder if you're so willing to kill the people who are out to hurt Bones simply because you wouldn't want her to unleash all of her power against them. Perhaps you're doing this because you want to show them some modicum of mercy?

You ponder these thoughts as the trees whiz by the window in the dark; looking like an endless picket fence as you race deep into the forests of Appalachia.

**AN: I'm effusively sorry that there has been a distinct lack of my trademark adrenaline filled bloody action. I promise that my next installment will be much more action packed; and before you ask no I'm not going to continue my previous "dream" arc. This isn't a torture-snuff fic and there are some situations which I feel can't ever be truly described in real time except by reflecting on them. Anyway please review.**


	15. We'll do or die

**AN: As promised to my reviewers this chapter will be a bit closer to my previous chapters' tones. I admit my writing pace is rather odd but since I would much rather write for all of you than pretend to study for my midterm this week here you have it. I hope that you read this installment with much enjoyment and thus translate your appreciation into reviews. And yes I still don't own Bones.**

You can taste the moisture and life emanating from the soil. From the leaves. From the trees around you and the insects crawling over you. You can smell and taste the vitality of life and yet you are the harbinger of death. Why is it that you can feel life pulsating around you every time your hand caresses the worn carving along the butt stock of one of the most lethal tools developed by the depraved ramblings of the lunatic human mind?

You stalk through these woods, these woods which only a few long days ago you were fleeing through like a jilted calf. Now you are a predator. So many people equate what you are, a sniper, to a wolf or a snake of some sort; but no animal is so dangerous. No you are something far deadlier.

Nothing is more dangerous than a man with a purpose.

Hang that thought, Bones is still more dangerous than you are; at least she has more flair about her aura of delicious deadliness. And you know what they say: "The female is the dangerous one of the species."

But if she was so dangerous then why did you all but force her to stay back in the car and to go find somewhere safe to hide with her dad? Surely you could benefit from having two other sets of eyes and weapons to watch your back?

No.

You know what it is to fight, to kill. The other two don't.

Max might know what it is to murder, to kill in defense of his own or for a specific purpose but he's never been in a serious fire fight. He's never had to do what you know what needs to be done here.

Bones has killed before and you never wish for her to have to stain her hands again with the blood of even the wicked. You're expendable, she's not. Your soul is already irreparably scored with the blood of others and hers is still pure; you'll never allow her to be stained with what you can prevent by doing yourself. You're here to make sure that she stays safe; it makes no sense to bring her right in the middle of the hot zone.

Bones was a mixture of anxious/worried/furious as you all but forced her to stay behind as you geared up and started to make your way into the woods hand railing the road; the location of which you "elicited" from the hit man sent to the Jeffersonian.

The sweat rolls down your body even as the wind drifts through the trees nipping at the skin of your face. The weight of your gillie suit, weapons, equipment, and ammo are comfortable reminders of your younger days when you did this more times than you can count.

As you roll your feet heel to toe along the knife edge of your foot you scan around the area listening and looking for anything out of the natural order of things.

You hear the chirping of birds, the natural crackle of the wind through leaves and branches. The distant gurgle of a woodland stream catches the dim notes at the edge of your hearing.

The pre-dawn light shrouds you as it shrouds everything else in the forest. You're glad that you slept so much on the drive here; you're going to need it.

If you had a mirror you could tell that you look nothing like the clean and dapper FBI Agent that you've always looked like; mussed hair, a face obscured with green and loam. No tailored and cut suits for you now only functional BDU's overlain with a "burlap sack with leaves" as Bones so aptly put it. You have to admit your boots are a lot easier on the feet than your normal shoes are.

A distant rumble.

Instantly you drop down behind a well placed log. You guide your rifle to cover the road and the ever growing growl coming from the direction where you came.

Time ticks away as you lie there waiting.

The growl gets louder. The sweat pools in the small of your back.

Calm yourself Seeley.

Your breathing is steady and controlled.

Your heart slows.

You already have a round chambered; the growl builds into a dull roar.

Through the foliage and underbrush you glimpse the dirty red paint job of a pickup truck.

As it gets closer you see two men in the cab.

You have no idea who these guys are; the light or lack thereof obscures their features. But they look totally unaware that the proverbial Sword of Damocles is hovering above them; or to be more accurate lying on top of what you strongly suspect is a pile of deer shit.

You can't see what's in the bed of the truck, the angle is too bad.

Do you take the shot?

Are these guys connected with what you have to do?

Will you compromise yourself?

Your finger hovers next to the trigger as you line up your shot with the truck…

And relaxes as you let it go. You lie there as you listen for the engine to fade into the woods.

Carefully you pick yourself up and continue to make your way on foot

*************************************************************************************************************************

You can hear loud voices in the distance up ahead. You're getting close.

It's an arduous process as you crouch down low to the ground and start to creep forward, always trying to keep as much concealment around you.

Ooof your back is starting to complain about all of this hunched over movement. Maybe you can ask Bones and her magic knuckles to fix you after this is all done?

In the lightening sky you can make out more features in the woods of Appalachia; yes that was definitely deer shit that you laid down in, it's starting to crust along your chest.

As you get closer you can barely make out a wire fence. Concertina wire. This is definitely the place.

You keep creeping around looking for a vantage point to dig in for a while. You'd prefer to wait until dusk falls so you can have the advantage of confusion so right now it's strictly Intel gathering.

Ah perfect.

You spot a bit of a ridge off to the north which by the looks of it will afford you a look at the entire camp.

Well what are you waiting for Seeley? Time to hunch-walk over there.

Your back complains as you start moving again.

****************************************************************************************************************

You should have shot that truck. Oh you really should have. You're never going to forgive yourself for not shooting those guys in the truck.

Quietly ensconced along the ridge, concealed by a myriad of bushes, brush, and fallen logs and leaves you have a decent view of the large clearing in the middle of the camp, the guard's barracks, entrance, and various prisoner holding boxes.

You can see the feet of the prisoners in the little boxes; you can see the sores and dirt along their feet and legs.

And a dirty red pick-up truck.

To be more specific a dirty red pick-up truck with two empty burlap sack with manacles fixed into the bed.

Your scope plays over the body of a very unconscious Max Keenan tied up and gagged to a post alongside the truck. Blood caked to his face, his eyes seemingly swollen shut.

You can see the guards; 8 of them, and the stone faced boss man amongst them. They're all gathered around Max, haranguing him by their gestures and the snippets of words that you can discern from a distance of about 300 meters.

Stone man is holding what you can only describe as the evil bastard child of a cheese grater and a baseball bat; a sickening lurch in your stomach crops up as he brings it down, hard, on Max's legs. You can see the blood well up through the new rips in his pants as he gasps forth to painful consciousness.

You can see the laughter on the guards' faces. Anger wells up in you but you know that you shouldn't act just yet. You have no plan to get into the compound, and if you shoot now you can give your position away. There's no telling how many and where the rest of the guards are, if there are any more. As much as you hate to see Max get hurt for Bones' sake you can't risk the big picture for any one person…

Wait two burlap sacks.

Where's Bones?

Oh Jesus God where is Temperance?

You swing your rifle into position; you let the sights line up.

*************************************************************************************************************

Max looked on in barely concealed terror as he saw that demon in man form raise up that peculiar instrument of pain again. One blow with that already left him reeling in pain and the jabbering of the rest of these punks only seemed to throw fuel on the burning fire within his leg. How could he have been so stupid to let those two guys get a drop on him? He mused that he must be getting too slow in his old age; getting dropped upon never sat well with Max and it definitely didn't sit well with him that his own daughter was put into danger by his failure. Max noticed with some satisfaction that the two goons who got him both sported numerous bruises and cuts along their faces so Tempe must have fought back. Maybe she even got away; he told her to run for it as he tried to hold them off!

All thoughts of this were wrenched from Max's mind as suddenly that cut-granite face of scars with a permanent snarl on its face suddenly exploded in a mass of blood, gore, brains, and bone shards.

Chaos descends on the camp as the Angel of Death makes his presence known.

**AN: Just so you know the next chapter is going to be the magnum opus of this work so it will take a while but will be chock full of wonderful goodies and one-liners. As always if you have any ideas that you want me to write in please sound off and let yourself be known to me in the form of clicking on the button immediately below this sentence. **


	16. Sweat and Muscle and Jungle Work

**AN: Here it is, the greatly anticipated epic-mega-grand kahuna-chapter to end all chapters (yes I have been drinking [just a little bit I swear] and have a bit of a sugar rush so cut me a break)! Let the one liners flow like wine and the schadenfreude encompass as an egg shell the gooey yellow egg center of unadulterated and explicit violence. As this is definitely starting to drift out of the normal vision of canon "Bones" it's a good thing I suppose that I don't own said show. But sit back and enjoy my faithful readers and remember reviews are like fire; they make everything better.**

You don't even notice the pink mist from your first shot. Even though it's been an age since you've last gotten a kill on your most beautiful and deadly rifle you still don't want to see the visual marks: the arterial spray, the shredded brain matter, and the powdered cranial bone. It sickens you deep inside that you once got a rush seeing the bullet impact; seeing the target simply die before your eyes without ever knowing who sent his soul screaming through the gates of Hell.

But it sickens you even more that you no longer notice.

Breathe, work the bolt. Another round slides effortlessly into the chamber.

You see them running around the clearing; directionless and frightened.

You can smell the fear.

God help you but it tastes good on your tongue. These bastards cause pain. They caused you pain. They caused Bones pain. They could be causing Bones pain right this second. They could be…

A growl escapes your lips as you bring the rifle to bear on a target running for the truck.

His coat has a discolored stain on the back of it. Good. Something to aim for.

People who've never shot before don't know how a marksman aims; he aims for the smallest target possible. A little red dot on a distant target, a discolored mole, a hair, an eye. Aim small, miss small.

Your sights align perfectly with the small mark; it's a coffee stain.

You exhale slowly. There's the briefest moment between breaths when your body is perfectly still.

Squeeze.

The crack of the rifle is punctuated by the screams of that damned man. You briefly register how the bullet punches through his lower back; a conical wake from the exit wound of blood and fragments of organs. He falls down screaming desperately trying to keep his insides from falling out of his now open and ruptured abdomen. You can make out the blood and fluids mixing with the dirt and debris on the ground.

Good.

You hope he dies slowly as gut wounds tend to do. Let his stomach acid burn and destroy his insides as he slowly bleeds out.

A second passes as you work the bolt and find another target. This kid looks barely old enough to shave but he's one of them. He's one of the people who've hurt Bones.

Your bullet catches him right under the ribcage on his left side. He was running towards the guard's barracks. You saw the bullet exit from his clavicle; the bullet ricocheted around inside his body pulping organs, ripping arteries, and cracking bone. His death will be fast but no less painful.

Mechanically you keep working the bolt, finding a target, and ending their life. The screams of pain and agony are music to your ears as your mind sings out snippets of the most horrifying song you know:

_Shots a ring  
Are you listening?  
In the lane  
The blood's glistening  
A beautiful site  
We're happy tonight  
Walking in a sniper's wonderland_

_When we shoot  
It's thrilling  
Through our sites they get a chilling  
Lock and load another round  
Watch the bastard hit the ground  
Walking in a sniper's wonderland._

You pause only to load another magazine. And your work begins anew. You count five bodies in the clearing and one more target. Two ran off into the underground tunnels that you knew so well and the other made it inside the guard's barracks.

The last one is a sneaky bastard, hiding behind a fallen tree. He thinks that he's safe behind its thickness.

Only he's not counting on you being even sneakier.

You make a SWAG as to where his head is. As you squeeze the trigger you make a silent prayer hoping that your Stupid Wild Ass Guess was correct.

The splintering wood sends fragments flying in the air. Before the pieces of bark even hit the ground another round is on the way following in the exact footsteps of its brother.

You can see the log cracking. That's the problem with fallen trees; the wood is usually rotten and weak. However that's not the case here, the wood is still strong. However if you try to underscore that fear into the rat bastard hiding behind said log… A predatory grin comes across your face as your target gets up to make a sprint to the barracks.

Your next shot catches him just under the armpit.

He falls down scrabbling against the ground. You can see the blood bubbling up and flowing out of his mouth; the desperation in his eyes, pleading. He's drowning in his own blood right before your eyes. The frothy red liquid pouring out stains his white teeth and mingles with his unkempt beard; matted hair clinging to his cheeks and neck. His body involuntarily writhes on the ground desperately trying to cope with the unimaginable pain. A bubble of blood pops out of his mouth from the stream coming forth from his nostrils coating his lips in crimson.

Do you put him out of his misery?

Fuck his misery.

You slowly pick yourself up and reload your rifle; pausing only to kiss the name carved into the stock. You smell the harsh stench of carbon and gunpowder.

You make your way through the wood line, picking your path carefully to keep trees between you and the camp until you can see the entrance. Good they haven't locked it up. The timbers of the gate creak in the wind mixing in with the sobs and moans of dying men.

You glance over to Max where he's tied up to the pole. He's desperately looking about to see what's going on; tied up and bloody but he's safe for now. You can free him later after you've hunted down the guy in the barracks.

Silently you pick your way across the clearing keeping what little cover there is between you and the building.

Is there a window? Most excellent there is.

You creep over avoiding the door. Whoever is inside will be covering the door. Glance up and into the window and what do you see? One fat little fuck who looks like he's about to pee himself holding what looks to be a cudgel of the broken table leg variety. Well you know that he's going to die but how are you going to kill him? Do you shoot him through the window?

No that would be too simple, besides why waste ammo?

You lay down your rifle reverently down on the ground near the door and draw your bayonet. The cold steel glints hungrily in the pale sun. Silently you place yourself just outside the door; the stench overwhelms you, he went and shit himself if the trail of brown sludge on the ground and the smell is of any indication.

You burst through the door going low down to the ground. You predicted well as his wild swing sends the club sailing harmlessly over you. What you didn't count on though was the fact that you ended up stepping in and slipping on the evidence of his cowardice. You stumble just long enough for him to regain his balance as you spin around to face him.

He's a stout man, a heavy set and bearded fellow wearing faded clothes and heavy boots. A wild and frenzied look of panic on his face gives you pause; there are two enemies to be most feared in the world: the utterly feral and the utterly intelligent. While the intelligent are more deadly the feral are no less of a hassle and this fellow here is definitely showing his animal side because after all there is nothing more dangerous than a cornered beast.

With a garbled yell he lunges at you with a wild hay-maker of a swing; you duck low to avoid the attack and effortlessly thrust sliding the blade to the hilt into his chest into his third intercostals space. You never would have imagined using bone-speak when describing how you're killing a man but there's a first time for everything.

Only problem is that your blow doesn't kill him instantly. Well if at first you don't succeed then try, try again.

Ouch those are stars.

You find yourself sprawled in an un-appealing manner from the heavy wood of his club kissing your back causing your head to slam painfully into the wooden floor.

You didn't take it into account that this was a rather large and well furnished room when you first glanced through the dirty window. Rows of bunks, a furnace, even a nice kitchen and bathroom ensemble off down the way. A rather cozy cabin you admit other than the fact that the current occupant is trying his damndest to bash your skull in- Woah that was a close one, he damn near cracked the floor with that blow.

You spring up to your feet knife in hand. He's already bleeding badly but his adrenaline and fear have pumped him up like a gang-banger on PCP. Wildly he lunges at you again but this time you're ready. Up close you pin his arm up with your left hand and with your right you thrust your knife into his belly. Without a change in your expressing you disembowel him moving your knife along his abdomen from one side of his hip to the other. You step back just in time to keep his guts from spilling out onto your pants and shoes. Damn the stains in the floor will take forever to be removed after this. Maybe you should leave the cleaners a note of apology?

You stand there as he falls to his knees with such force as to surely fracture his patella; see Bones you do pay attention! Unintelligible words stream from his mouth much like organs from his gut as he desperately tries to push his intestines back inside his body. Black bile mixes with red blood. His eyes wide in agony as he just stares at you; Angel of Death.

His eyes trouble you with their accusations.

Are you really as ruthless and callous as to let him slowly die in front of you?

"Behold I am the bringer of Death, the destroyer of Worlds." A little line from your scholar days; it brings a bit of poetry and dignity to this whole wretched affair. You feel satisfaction as he flinches away in fear.

A brief glance over the barracks: unkempt beds, footlockers of clothes, dirty floors, and an even dirtier bathroom. Nothing of import here; calmly you step over his writhing body and shut the door behind you.

**************************************************************************************************

"They were following us; after you left they found us. I did everything I could to keep her safe. Bum-rushed them so that she could have a chance to run. God I hope that she's ok, I'll never forgive myself if anything happens to her."

You cut Max down from the pole and got him propped up against the truck so that the vehicle is between him and the cave entrance. You've been keeping an eye on it to make sure that they're not trying to escape from there.

You notice that the other prisoners are whimpering in their cells; all they heard were the shots, the shouts, and the groans of dying men. They've no idea what has transpired here and the ignorance is gnawing at them. Soon you whisper, soon they'll be free.

"Max you're going to take this truck and drive out of here to get help. Bring cops, bring ambulances, bring everything. Do what you have to, to get them over here to get those prisoners over there out safely and so that we can let everyone know about what sort of operation is going on here."

The urgency in your voice gets through to him, but then again he's in no shape to come with you to clear out the remnants and he knows it.

"Ok Booth but on one condition: find my daughter and keep her safe."

"Already planning on doing that."

"That's my boy."

He gets into the cab of the truck and starts her up, as he starts to move out so do you. Only instead of leaving you're moving deeper into the camp.

You position yourself at the entrance of the tunnel and listen intently for any signs of life.

Nothing.

Slowly you push the door open with the muzzle of your rifle and pie off the room.

It doesn't surprise you that all the equipment that you broke the last time you were here is now gone, what does surprise you is the fact that it has all been replaced. Bright and shiny new, too bad you don't have time to break it now. You make your way over to the mirror/interrogation room finding that it too is empty; all the blood from your time there cleaned up and the chair and table missing. Curiouser and curiouser.

Back into the monitoring room, this time you're focused on the door leading you deeper into the complex. If anyone is down there with a weapon drawn then you'll be stuck in a dangerous position; little to no cover and a bolt action weapon. A bad combination. You briefly wonder what Max did with that Thompson that you gave him.

You nudge the door open; the corridor is dimly lit by the naked overhead bulbs.

Suddenly the oppressive weight of the air in this underground corridor is split with a scream. A female scream; not one of terror so much as outrage, of violation.

Oh God Bones.

You move swiftly down the tunnel, your breathing getting faster and more ragged as you hustle to find her.

More noises, male voices down in the unknown.

You come to the split, which way do you go? The voices seem to be coming from the right, from the room where you got your freedom from this place. That's the way you'll go.

As you turn you see light under the gap in the door. No time now to think, you have to act!

You kick the door open and rush inside. You dimly notice the tingle of metal along the stone floor.

All you see is a boom box and a- oh shit.

The light blinds you and noise deafens you as the flash-bangs explode.

************************************************************************************************

She hears the flat boom reverberating out of the tunnel entrance. Without regard to the consequences and despite her injuries she rushes in.

***********************************************************************************************

Complete disorientation, woah…

You cough and hack; a burning sensation from your throat and mouth as you unconsciously throw up.

Suddenly you're yanked to your knees. Pain registers as you feel blows land on you. You're blind and deaf; completely disoriented from the blast of two flash-bang grenades and you have the immense fortune to be under attack by the remaining guards. You can't confirm it as of yet but you can tell that they've already taken away your rifle; you hope they haven't hurt her.

Your hearing recovers quickly but your eyes are still fuzzy and unseeing. Of course if they could see they'd warn you of the incoming boot.

You feel your lip split and can taste the blood in your mouth as you fly back and hit the floor. You quickly scramble up to your feet in a feeble fighting stance. Still blind.

How on earth are you going to fight these guys blind?

Suddenly the pictures of that warehouse fill your mind. A voice in your head whispers that these two; you can hear two different sets of breathing, two different heartbeats, these two were the ones who did that.

Bring them to Justice.

And Justice is blind.

You roar and leap at the one to your right, how do you know that he's there? You just do. He lands a solid blow on your chest but you return with a fist to his throat. You feel the windpipe crumble and collapse under your knuckles; you feel his spine break as you slam him back into the wall.

The other one rushes you from behind but you're too fast.

You can sense him flying back and getting dazed from the impact with the floor.

"You were the ones in the warehouse." Your voice has an unearthly tone to it; it's not even a question but a statement. A passing of a sentence, a passing of judgment.

The one whose throat you've crushed only gasps, his wheezes hitching; you can tell that he was. The other one only groans in response.

Your knife appears in your hand. How did it get there you'll never know; only that it is fitting.

But first make them suffer, as they did to their victims.

Your ears are filled with the highest pitched screams of pain you've ever heard as your heel grinds down. You feel the pops and the blood pooling under your boots. Their whimpers are music as you punish them for their violation of that woman in the warehouse. Finally you silence them both; your knife strikes swiftly plunging into their eyes and directly into the brain. Instant death is too good for them but you don't have time to go and sharpen stakes to impale them on at the moment. And on a plus note there's not as much blood on your blade now for you to clean later; eyeball fluid as a cleaner, everyone benefits!

Silently you slide your knife back into its scabbard.

Your eyesight returns as you step back from your last killing blow.

Oh God.

You see Bones just standing there in the doorway, her mouth dropped slightly and her eyes wide. Accusations seem to stream forth from her as your ears are bombarded by the oppressive silence between the two of you. Her eyes tell you that she's seen everything that you did; all that you're capable of. She's seen you kill and cause men agony unblinkingly and without hesitation.

Her hair is mussed and small cuts mar her ethereal beauty, bruises are forming along her arms and hands. Blood trickles down from a split lip. Evidence of a violent fist fight; she's protected herself when you weren't there to protect her.

You weren't there to protect her. The realization hits you harder than all the death that you caused today.

Your heart falls as you realize that you failed her. You weren't there to protect her when she needed it.

Exhaustion and failure combine to overwhelm your energy. You slump to the ground with tears in your eyes.

Despite all you've done you've failed her. Despite all that you've tried to hide from her: your past actions, what you've shown you're capable of. She's seen the side of you that you've tried to hide from her these past four years.

Now she knows, now she'll leave you. You look at her pleadingly; exhaustion and fear on your features, while hers show shock.

You both stare at the other; neither of you daring to make the first move to break this oppressive deadlock.

Man up Seeley and do something, don't let her leave you without you explaining.

Slowly you stand up straight, the pain from your injuries finally breaking through and making themselves known. You slowly make your way to her only pausing to pick up your rifle. You hold her with surprising strength in your hand as you make your way towards Bones.

You raise your left hand. Somehow you managed to keep any sort of blood or other fluids off of it. You approach her slowly trying to read her eyes. She doesn't move away from you but she doesn't move towards you.

"Bones…"

Your moniker for her escapes through dry lips; your mouth feels parched. She's just standing there gazing at you. Why doesn't she do anything? Why doesn't she say anything? Is she frightened? Oh God have you scared her away?

"Bones… I'm sorry- I… Temperance…"

You're pleading with her, just this side of begging. You have to make things right, you have to fix things. How can you fix things if she won't say anything to you?

"Booth…" as hesitant as her voice is the sound is more welcome to you than anything you can possibly imagine.

You're both standing so close to each other. Mere inches away. You can see the emotions swimming in the deep seas of her eyes. If you don't stop moving towards her then you'll lose control over your own deep-set emotions. You can't afford to scare her any more when she's so close to leaving already.

"I'm sorry… I failed to- I failed to keep you safe."

Your hand touches her cheek with as much tenderness as you can muster; her skin feels incredibly soft underneath your calloused fingers.

She inhales suddenly as you touch her but she doesn't flinch away. She seems to lean in towards your touch. Indeed she's reaching to you, her hand resting lightly on your arm. She's so close…

Suddenly you grab her and throw her down on the floor, your body landing over top of her.

The wall behind you explodes in a cloud of rock shards; the roar of the gunshot reverberating at these close quarters.

She yells out in surprise; you just drag her into the room and behind you and the wall. You raise your rifle up and aim down the corridor.

Only to be greeted by a hail of gunfire. So that's where that other Thompson gunner went.

Too bad he got you in the shoulder just then.

"Oh God Jesus Fuck! Damn it!"

You crawl back into cover slapping your left hand over your right shoulder in an effort to staunch the blood. What is it with you getting shot and hurt? Damn it you're the hero here shouldn't you be invincible or something?

"Booth! Are you alright?! You're bleeding!" Bones grabs a hold of you pulling you closer to her and farther away from danger. Her dexterous fingers clamp down on yours as she applies pressure on your wound.

"Argh, yeah Bones I'll be alright. I just need to get a shot off on this guy and we can get out of here no problem. 'Tis only a flesh wound.'" Your arm feels like it's on fire but at least it was just a graze. And your English accent really sucked on that last part there.

Another burst of fire sends more shards flying. You jerk your leg as one of the rock shards buries itself into your thigh. Christdamnalmighty that stings!

Focus Seeley, focus. You have to get Bones out of here and the only way to do that is to get this guy.

Quick glance around the corner.

You see the gunner down at the T, and then you see yet another flash of fire. You duck back just in time as the bullets ricochet all over the stone sending shards flying. Bones gasps as some of it nicks her along her arm leaving a long gash.

If you stay here too long then you're dead you have to act now Seeley.

But how? You can't get a shot off from here… or can you?

You deftly take off the scope of your rifle, time to rely on iron sights.

"Booth what are you doing? You can't aim as well without your scope."

"I don't use a scope for CQM."

"CQM?"

"Close Quarters Marksmanship."

"Booth you're not seriously-"

"Bones the only way that I can be sure of getting a hit on this guy is to go out there and get a shot off in the corridor. He's got me pinned down here and if I take my time in lining up a shot from here it'll take too long before he reacts. The only way I can get him is if I throw him off balance and take the initiative."

"But you'll be out of cover and you don't have any body armor, Booth you could get killed!"

"Bones it's the only way."

She grabs you by your collar and drags you close to her as another burst of fire sends shrapnel flying off the walls.

"Booth you could get killed! I don't want you to get killed! Death is around right that corner and I don't want to see you die."

"I'm still going around that corner." Your temper is getting up; it's no time or place for another argument. You have to act now damn it or else he's going to toss in a grenade or something and finish this Mexican standoff.

"Why?!" She practically screams it at you, tears and anger in her eyes. No time to ponder what that means just yet because you have a task to do.

"For you."

Your simple answer stuns her and she just stares at you. Shock and bewilderment, fear not for herself but for you.

Of course you don't help her out any by kissing her full on the lips.

Wow did you really just do that? Seeley you picked one hell of a time for a damn deathbed confession of epic fail proportions.

But she tastes so sweet on your lips…

You wrench your lips from hers; she's in shock her mouth forming a small "o" and her eyes wide.

"Bones no matter what happens to me I want you to run, get out of here. I'm going to take down this guy. No matter what happens I want you to run and get out of here. Understand me I can't risk you getting hurt so you're going to run. Got me?"

Damn she's still in shock but her head slowly nods up and down in the affirmative.

You get up to your feet, your back complaining the entire time. You pull her to her feet and get ready to move.

Another burst of fire. That wall is getting messed up isn't it?

As soon as the burst is done you sprint around the corner.

You see his amazement to see you completely out of cover.

You raise your rifle. Damn but it's too heavy for quick movements.

He brings his gun to bear.

Rifle up, you have to get an instant kill here, no mistakes Seeley.

Both of you fire at the same time.

You miss.

He doesn't.

You see the wall behind him explode as the round impacts, half an inch too far to the left.

You feel the impact of the round.

Funny you'd think that you'd hurt more as you're pitched backwards onto the floor.

Sorry Bones. You've failed her again. You weep, not for you but for her. You've failed her.

Funny, you think, you were only hit once. Did his weapon jam?

Not that it matters. It's all over now.

You notice a flash of movement over you.

Bones…

Temperance…

"I'm sorry…"

The dark shroud of night descends over your vision and you know no more.

**AN: May you bless me with all your many myriad reviews, I hope you enjoyed that! Over 4600 words, whew.**


	17. Fin

**AN: I don't own Bones. Due to the outpouring of reviews and demands that I update to end the suspense I have decided to once again set aside work and instead put my time and energy into writing this the epilogue of my little tale. Thanks again to all my readers and reviewers; perhaps I'll write something new soon.**

"Time of death 2134."

The doctor pulls the cover over the bloody corpse of what once was a man.

He shrugs; he couldn't have done anything to save the man. Too much damage was done; his injuries were too severe. It was a wonder that he lived long enough to make it to the ER.

His death was painful and slow; a pity. No one should die in that much agony.

The doctor steps out to wash up and send for the ME; an orderly rolls the gurney out to the morgue.

**************************************************************************************************************

In the rolling green fields of Arlington men and women gather around a hole in the ground to honor and mourn. Some are stoic, some cry, but all remember.

"Ready!"

Seven rifles brought up to port arms.

"Aim!"

Seven rifles aimed in the sky. The sky is of the purest blue.

"Fire!"

A single crack as seven voices speak. In unison the soldiers reload.

"Aim!"

Seven are brought up again facing the sky.

"Fire!"

The rifles crack; sobs from the onlookers punctuate the meaning of the ceremony.

"Aim!"

A flag-draped coffin stands alone over an empty grave.

"Fire!"

Twenty-one times the rifles speak. Twenty-one voices of respect, honor, and mourning.

Why is the sky blue? Because God loves the infantry; as we die he cries.

The chaplain stands solemn and stoic over the casket as the victorious dead is lowered to his final rest.

**********************************************************************************************************

*pop*

Pain…

So… much…

"Shhh… rest."

*Hissssss*

The pain disappears…

************************************************************************************************************

In an office a man panics, his phone calls to unwritten numbers go unanswered. Sweat beads down his brow.

His connections can no longer protect him, or will no longer protect him. A massive shake up is in the works because of the events of the last week; the Attorney General is talking about a full investigation to find out what is happening in this arm of the government.

A hunt the AG means; a hunt for traitors and criminals. This man is one of many, only he's the one closest to the catalyst.

Treason, that word hangs heavy in the air of this building. Treason always fails. He should have remembered that. For if it doesn't then none dare call it treason.

A knock on the door.

He turns to see armed men holding a piece of paper enter his sanctum.

They speak words that he refuses to let himself hear. Not that it matters.

He's numb as the metal clicks over his wrists. The metal feels so cold on his sweaty skin.

They escort him out.

He looks back to see men in gloves plunder his office for evidence of his perfidious crimes.

A man of power walked into that office today.

And now a broken shell shambles out.

****************************************************************************************************************

Are you dead?

You're definitely floating… or at least it feels that way…

This isn't quite what you imagined the Hell to be like. You don't feel any pain. Only a strange nothingness.

Are you in Heaven? Purgatory?

No, you've done too much wrong in your life. You've killed. You've done evil.

Wait.

What's that?

ARRRRRGHHHHH!!!!!

That's pain alright.

Your eyes.

You can move your eyes.

The light hurts you but you can move your eyes.

You're alive. And you're very much in pain.

Clarity.

The light is clearing. You can see.

But what do you see?

You see a ceiling… tiles… a hospital?

A figure obscures the light.

Ethereal.

Beautiful.

Aphrodite. No.

Athena.

She whispers something but you can't understand the words.

A slight pressure.

The light fades…

**************************************************************************************************************

Men in blue jump suits photograph a wooden clearing in the forests of Appalachia.

Actually they're not photographing the clearing so much as the blood and gore.

And the bones, don't forget the bones.

The stench of death, sweet in the air; a foulness that can never be described only experienced.

Death has visited here.

They all know what happened, or were at least told a story about the events. Fed on rumors each taller than the last.

They say it was one man that did all of this. One man killed all these people. One of the techs insists on this, says he knows the man who did it.

Impossible the others say. It had to have been at least two, more likely three men. How can one man have done all of this by himself? All the signs say that the deaths of almost a dozen men occurred within minutes of each other; how can one man have killed so many in such a short time?

The first man insists; the others roll their eyes but shut up. After all he's the boss of the team.

The first man takes off his glasses for a second to wipe his brow with his forearm. Utterly in awe at the scene of death before him; he makes a mental note to pay back that $10 that he borrowed for lunch last month.

****************************************************************************************************************

Slowly light creeps into darkness; a stirring inside of you that you thought was lost. So you're really not dead. At least that's comforting because you feel more pain that you wished you had to feel.

They must be cutting back on the morphia; you've had… "dreams" is the best way to put it, of awake fullness but they were always fuzzy and ended too soon.

Pain is good; pain means that you're alive.

Your eyelids feel like lead weights but you muster the strength to open them… slowly.

The first thing you notice is that you're sporting more tubes and lines out of you than you've had for a good long time.

Ok that was a lie; the first thing you noticed was the fact that Wendell and Hodgins are both zonked out in the room with you. Suddenly a great weight that was resting on your shoulders is lifted and you let out a great sigh of relief.

Of course neither of them are in the greatest of predicaments. Wendell is sporting a brand new respirator and Hodgins has nearly as many lines going into him and tubes leaving him as you do. At least they're alive, you didn't know what happened to them before you decided to go and get shot.

Wait…

You were shot…

So how the hell did you get here?

Bones?!

Where is she? What happened? Is she ok?

You look around the room feverishly trying to catch a glimpse of her, even the slightest hint of her presence; the sound of her voice, a whiff of her perfume, anything.

The door creaks open. Your heart leaps in anticipation.

Only to have it crushed as a nurse walks in checking the monitors. She just looks at you noticing that you're awake but doesn't even say anything like "hello." Some service this hospital has, if you have the chance you'll never return here; instead you'll take all your flesh-patching needs somewhere else.

As the nurse leaves you hear the hushed whisper of voices on the other side of the door, the next thing you know is the door being just this side of flung open by a very agitated looking Bones.

Addendum- A very hot agitated looking Bones. You're allowed to think that right? After all you did take the line and blow it out of the water with that off the cuff spur of the moment kiss right before you had to go run out in the open and get shot.

Yeah she may be sporting a mess of cuts and bruises across her alabaster skin but the well-fitting pants and blouse ensemble she has going for her makes up for damn near anything.

She walks over to you with as much indignation as she can possibly muster; dear God what did you go and do now? Hey at least you didn't pretend that you were dead this time around! Can't she give you some credit for that?

Her heavy breathing and very pissed off look seem to tell you otherwise as she positions her face inches away from yours.

"Uh… hi Bones…" She can't hit you right? You are an invalid in a hospital bed, there's a rule against that sort of thing somewhere right?

Her eyes burn with righteous fury but her voice is utterly calm.

"If you ever do that to me again I will kill you." Ok you take it that the kiss was unwell-

HOLY CHRIST!!!!! Oxygen… loosing… senses overwhelmed… Bones… lips… tongue…

The last thing you hear before you lose consciousness is the monitor beeping and the nurse yelling curses.

****************************************************************************************************************

Max Keenan smiles as he looks through the glass of the hospital room door; about time those two finally admitted the obvious to each other. He walks down the hall and out the door to the car that's parked outside. He looks around but the section of parking lot that he's in is deserted; he pops the trunk to caress the saving grace that protected his daughter freed all those unfortunate souls. To think that so many FBI and LEOs were deemed "threats" to uncovering a crime syndicate within the halls of the Bureau. He shudders thinking of the grave pits that the forensics teams found just outside the clearing and scattered throughout the forest. He thinks on how it took his breath away to see his Tempe carrying a bloody Booth out of the caves; to think that they might have had to bag him with all the other dead there save for the efforts of his daughter... of course she made up for that Samaritan act by leaving a bloody, mangled, but still breathing pile of meat and bones down the tunnel. Max smiles knowingly and says: "That's my girl."

His eyes fix upon a word carved into the butt-stock; a fitting name for what transpired. Fate it seems was fulfilled today he muses.

"Well Temperance I don't think that Booth will mind me taking you out for a spin, after all he said that I could try shooting you sometime."

With a very charming grin he shuts the trunk and gets into the car, humming an old Poco song as he drives away.

**AN:Hope you enjoyed my little epilouge! Keep a look out for new works from me because I find fanfic such a welcome distraction from my real work. A bit of clarification the funeral was for Williams, Booth's friend.**


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